Come What May
by AluminumMuse
Summary: There's something wrong with Artemis. Holly needs to fix him so he can get back to saving the world. Easier said than done. Questions remain: what is AMN, really? What do they want with the fairies, and- dear God- what have they already done to Artemis?
1. Chapter 1, The Dream

Author's Note: Takes place after time travel, but in this universe, Root didn't die and there are no twins.

Thanks to my Beta, TexasDreamer01!

0o0o0o0

**C** h a p t e r **1**

**D** r e a m

0o0o0o0

It had been five years. Five years since that damn war started up on the surface, since that fateful day when the third, and by far the greatest Word War started. Total warfare. Nobody quite knew how it had started, but it had, and standing in the middle of a charred, radioactive ruin, not bothering to switch on her cam foil, Holly Short knew what those humans hadn't.

Over seventy percent of the world population dead. Nothing was worth that.

She bent down, lifting up a soil sample and pouring it into a tiny canister that she then tucked away into her suit, careful not to put it under the second layer of clothing that protected her from radioactive and biological weapons. Foaly was working triple over time, too tired even to complain. Too weary from the war to want to.

Root stepped up beside her, face twisted with emotion. He had stopped chewing his cigars. They made his hands shake, he said, which was true enough. They shook anyways, though, Holly noted dispassionately.

"We're not here to take samples, Short," he barked, though the edge of his voice had dissolved into breathlessness as his eyes fell on the remains of a baby carriage, the fringe charred and the entire thing covered in a fine layer of dust. Everything was covered in dust, a mix of plaster and ash and kicked-up dirt dying every surface grey.

Holly knew Root was wondering the same thing she was: what had happened to whoever had occupied that carriage? Where they alive? And if so, for how long? After all, with the amount disease spawned from too much dirtied water and nowhere to bury bodies, alive was a relative state of being.

Holly flipped over a flattened piece of metal with her toe in the silence that followed, waiting for further instructions.

"Are you going to tell me why we are here?" She asked, when it seemed none were forthcoming. Her eyes flickered to her captain's face, a new habit since he had gained a range of expressions beyond angry and angrier.

He spat on the ground, a habit born from chewing tobacco. "You wouldn't believe me."

"I already don't believe you, Captain. We're not here on a Research Mission, a Collection Mission, or a Topside Rehabilitation Mission." Topside Rehabilitation Missions, or TRMs, were a breed of mission instated to resurrect the human race, along with all of the animal species that had perished during the bombings and rampant fires. They were becoming increasingly common, rendering the division between humans and faeries almost void.

Holly had always thought it was a pointless law anyway, retreating to live under ground while the humans scrabbled overhead. The agreement ensured that nobody was happy.

She sighed; turning her head to avoid the disapproving glance she knew would be shot in her direction. "Can't you just give me a strait answer for once? I am your second in command. I think I have the right to know what you are ordering me to do."

"This order isn't from me," he said, pulling something mechanical from his pocket and staring fixedly at the screen as he began to walk forward. "It's not even an order, really. But it's information straight from Foaly and he thought we were best qualified to investigate. No LEP involvement whatsoever. Except for us, of course. If what he says is true, though, LEP might just make us Generals."

Holly fell into step behind him, not quite sure whether or not to take his word or to press the issue. In the end, the part of her that had been a low ranking soldier for a good twenty years before being promoted won out, and she remained silent, falling behind him without protest. He made an irritated noise and gestured for her to walk by his side, which, after a moment's hesitation, she did.

The rubble began to thin as they entered what she assumed must have been a wealthy neighborhood at some time. The remains of houses, huge, white, empty- windowed, were even more foreboding than the twisted metal leftovers of skyscrapers with rooftop cafes. As she passed, Holly felt the soulless eyes of each house watching her, endless rows of ghosts. The footprints they left behind were covered almost immediately after being made by resettling dust. After perhaps an hour, they stopped before a tall, hunched, iron gate.

Holly blinked up at it, memories shifting in her subconscious. She frowned, noticing the sparkle of some high-level alloy lying on the cracked pavement. She stepped forward and crouched on the ground.

The metal was cool even through her gloves, but slightly brittle from fire damage, so that when she turned it over a shower of golden flakes rubbed off on her fingers. She pulled off one outer glove and began to rub away at the ash, leaving a simple declaration visible, written in a fancy, curving font.

Fowl Residence.

Holly's breath went out in a whoosh, and though she could feel her heart hammering in her chest, her arms and legs going numb, the world spinning beneath her feat, for a few second she didn't know what had elicited the strong reaction. Mental barriers set up to preserve her sanity bent and broke like a dam under too much water, and a name that she hadn't allowed herself to think for too long, far too long, came blasting through her mind: Artemis, Artemis, Artemis….

A wordless cry fell from her lips, clattering to the ground beside the address plate. She spun, whole body shaking, and grabbed the front of Captain Root's uniform.

"Is this some kind of joke?" She screamed, face right in his. "Is this some kind of sick joke? I don't want… to see… I don't want…" she tried to continue but gave up, trying instead to calm herself, trying not to hurt Root and his perfectly smooth, emotionless face. It was perverse, insulting, that this time she was the one unable to maintain control over her body.

She let go of him as soon as she could feel her fingers, staggering backwards until she was leaning against the fence, closing her eyes to familiar sights.

A hand touched her shoulder and she stiffened, though she did not try to pull away.

"Come inside. You will have to come to terms with this anyways, one way or another."

"If I find out we're here to collect the stolen gold, or… or raid the house for the book, something, I swear, Root, I'll knock you three shots before you can blink," she growled, shoulders hunched to hide their trembling.

Of all the words Holly would have used to describe herself, weak was not one of them. At that moment, she was sure she looked it. She pulled her 3000 from her hip and turned off the safety before jerking her head for him to continue. He paused, then nodded and pushed open the gate. The flaking bars hissed. They crossed the lawn, bare and flat, and reached the front door. Root glanced her way.

"Three shots, Root," she reminded him as he pushed open the wooden door. Already off balance on its rusted hinges, it fell forward onto the floor in a cloud of grey and a clatterer that came back at them a second time from the vastness of the room beyond..

Root stepped inside, and Holly followed after cranking up the air filter on her helmet.

Walking inside was like walking into a dream. She recalled in flashes her captivity there, remembered the silly girl, Juliet, her cautious brother, Butler, and the clever, haughty boy, that boy…

The Decree of Invitation of been lifted, she reminded herself. Being able to step into the house without repercussion didn't mean anything. Didn't mean any of them where dead. Certainly not.

"Holly. Root." Holly halted mid step and spun, eyes focusing and refocusing on a figure standing before a shattered picture window. Sunlight streamed in behind them, and she couldn't make out a face to fit the voice. The smart filters in her goggles snapped into gear, and an over lay of his features covered the screen in cool blue.

"Art-Artemis?" she whispered, hardly daring to move. Hardly daring to breath.

"It's me." His hand fell from where it had been resting on the banister beside him. His voice was familiar in pitch, but something pure had been sucked out of it, the confidence erased.

Her insides felt as though they had been filled with crawling insects.

He stepped out of the beam of sunlight and his face came into focus. What she saw made her draw in a gasp so sharp it was almost a scream.

He looked almost exactly the same, face too pale and hair dark as wet bark. A little bit older, but hardly. He was frail looking and wispy, his clothes were filthy and he hadn't grown more than an inch or two, still the size of a thirteen year old. A long, ragged-edged cut laced down from his forehead to his chin, dried blood darkening half his face, a second thin trail ran from his left nostril over his top lip. But none of would have made her gasp. It was that his eyes, once so devious and bright, constantly whirring with ideas, where as empty as the broken window behind him, only a field of charred grass and overcast sky.

Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it hard enough that a bead of blood ran down her chin and disappeared into the folds of her uniform. Seething emotion took on a new form, and she rode on a swell of anger towards him, hands balling into fists.

"Artemis Fowl… how could you?" She asked, standing only a foot from his body, one twitching finger poking into his chest. "You let us think you were dead. Dead, Fowl! Do you know how much we lost while you were gone? I thought… and Butler, and Juliet, and, oh, all of them! And you let that happen. You… you bastard!"

He blinked down at her, face a mask of apathy. "Juliet and Butler are dead, Holly. I am the only survivor," he said.

Behind her, she heard Root shifting around, but Artemis's face didn't change as he spoke.

"What?" She whispered, refusing to register what he was saying. "You can't even cry? You won't even pretend to be sorry?" Her fingers were digging into her palms and the pain of it sliced through the buzz of her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to stop. If she released her grip, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't just float out of her body like so many others.

And then there was Artemis, just standing there, just looking at her like he would look at a slide on business statistics. Did he know? Did he have any idea what she'd been through?

Before she could stop herself, she punched him hard in the gut.

He grunted, folding in half, forcing her to step back. When he didn't straighten after several seconds, however, simply remained crumpled and panting in obvious pain, Root appeared at her side. He pushed her away and knelt beside the younger man, lifting his head to better see what his hand were clutching at.

Where Holly had punched him, a disturbingly large stain of red was blooming across his stomach. Artemis's eyes pressed closed when Root lifted the hem of his shirt, revealing a map of scars and cuts. The fabric peeled away like the skin of an orange, leaving tuft of white fuzz in sticky wounds.

Holly made a soft noise and turned away, so that when Artemis collapsed, she only had the sound of his body hitting the ground to alert her to his descent into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2, Behind Blue Eyes

**C** h a p t e r **2**

**B** e h i n d **B** l u e **E** y e s

0o0o0o0

Artemis woke up in a strange bed, but he knew instantly where he was. His brain never stopped, not even when he slept, a fact that he had wished he could change many times. Just to get some rest. Just to slip into unconsciousness and not have to think anymore, to wake up a little confused but at least with his sanity intact. But no. Clearly the universe enjoyed tormenting him.

Holly Short had punched him. He had fainted after she reopened a laceration on his stomach. He was in LEP headquarters, probably being watched by surveillance cameras, probably in a medical bed of some kind. The warm tingle running through him indicated that he was on some sort of drip, probably codeine, water and sugar, though it was strong enough that he couldn't tell where the needle had gone hypodermic. Within a few seconds of his first movement, somebody would start asking questions.

So he sat and made no movement at all. Just for a little while long. Just for a little while…

0o0o0o0o0

Holly fidgeted, fingers clenching and unclenching at her sides. Root had his own hands in the pockets of his coat, but it didn't hide the fact that they were shaking again. An hour before he had dug a few cigarettes out of the wreckage of a drug store and eaten them like candy, eyes dark as they waited for a passage back down.

Foaly stood in front of a suspended monitor, seven feet tall and eight feet wide, staring at a set of subtly fluctuating numbers. Heart rate. Breathing rate. Brain waves.

"The boy's amazing," he had commented once, trying to break up the tangible silence, eyes never leaving the screen. "Brain never stops, not even when he sleeps."

Holly remembered seeing the flashes of scars up his stomach, and shuddered. No wonder the kid couldn't sleep. But then, it was Artemis Fowl. Maybe he had always been like that; maybe he lay awake every night plotting his next mission.

Foaly made a noise of surprise, jerking Holly out of her thoughts.

"Julius, I think he's awake," he said.

"Don't call me Julius," Root scolded without any really heat, walking to stand next to the centaur. He cocked his head to one side, eyes racing over the monitors and the hovering picture of Artemis sleeping in the far right corner.

"He doesn't look awake to me," he noted dryly, though there was a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Foaly chuckled and pressed a few buttons that made the video rewind. "See that?" he said triumphantly, pointing at the stationary figure, face alight with discovery.

"What am I supposed to be seeing here?" Holly asked, coming to stand between the two men.

"His finger," Foaly said impatiently. "His finger moved. Look."

"I guess I see it," Holly said after a minute of careful observation. "Flip back to the regular screen, maybe he's gotten the rest of the way up."

He obliged, but when the original screen came up, Artemis was missing. There was a stunned silence.

"Foaly!" Root barked after a solid handful of seconds. "This is no time for your games."

Foaly lifted his front hoof, pawing at the ground with just the tip nervously.

"I wish I could say I was playing."

Holly heard the soft click of the door opening behind them, and shot three rounds into the wall on instinct. Years of dwindling produce because of the war had left the public antsy, and towards the end, several shootouts had taken place inside government buildings, citizens ready to take things into their own hands.

"That was a warning," she began, but the continuation of the statement ('the next one goes through our head') was lost when she saw who it was.

"Artemis," she said breathlessly for the second time in 24 hours.

He smiled, and her chest swelled, but when his eyes slipped past her to Foaly, his expression hardened over in an instant, like quick drying plaster used to seal up volcanic activity near the eastern side of the city.

"Captain Root. Foaly." Nobody in the room missed the cold fury his voice held when he said the second name. He didn't bother trying to hide it, and that alone spoke volumes about the strength behind that single word. "I felt the need to remind you who you were dealing with. My apologies if I gave you a bit of a shock."

Root raised an eyebrow.

"Artemis, sit," he said at last. "We have-"

"Something to ask of me?" Artemis smirked, and the expression was almost familiar. "What a surprise. You know, they said that too. That they just had a little something to ask me."

"Who?" Holly asked immediately, against her better judgment. He didn't reply in kind, however, and she trailed him across the room to where he sat down in a plush, green chair. Nobody had the magic left to heal him properly, and the bandages under his clothes made a rustling sound when he shifted to get more comfortable.

Once he was settled, he closed his eyes and he waved a hand towards his own body. "The ones who gave me these."

Trembling fear rose up in Holly like acid, and she bit her lip, reopening the cut there. She wiped away the blood with the back of her ice white sleeve, were it glittered in the florescent lights.

She had assumed, they all had, that Artemis had been in a building when it collapsed, and the falling debris had left him in his current state. She had not received a report on the specifics of his case, but then, she was recon, not Med-division. Now, though, knowing that a person had done this to him, another human being, the extent of his wounds seemed exponentially greater.

Her gaze fell to his off-white pajamas, provided after his arrived by some caring nurse, and wondered what other injuries where hidden beneath his clothes. She felt sick. She didn't want to imagine.

"What happened, Artemis?" Root asked, clearly attempting to sound coaxing, but his voice was far too strained to pull it off.

Hateful blue eyes flashed up to his. "Why don't you ask Foaly?" he hissed. His hands, mostly hidden by too long sleeves, curled into claws on the armrests. Holly could see that several of the knuckles looked crooked, possibly broken.

She wondered how Juliet and Butler had died, whether it had been painful, or prolonged, or whether, sensing the end, they might have done it themselves. She remembered watching Artemis and his friend tipping back their heads to drink spiked Champaign to escape the time stop, and looked away.

"What?" Foaly asked, face full shock. His back foot lifted off the ground and came back down rather sharply.

"You knew," the younger man replied, soft and deadly. "That whole time, you knew."

"What's this, Fowl? Don't be foolish."

"What are you talking about, Artemis? I had no idea-"

Artemis held up a finger, a mocking sneer pulling up the corner of his mouth.

"Artemis," Holly said hesitantly. Since when had she been hesitant? It was her nature to rush into things blindly. She swallowed thickly, throat working harder than she remembered it having to, and continued. "There's no way he could have known. No way that any of us could have known about… whatever it is that happened to you. We thought you were dead."

"Then why were you visiting my house?"

Holly blinked and glanced at Root, who looked to Foaly. The centaur's face was pinched with emotion, but Holly couldn't decide which ones. He stared pointedly at a glowing replica of the earth suspended above a table behind them, damage areas mapped out in red and green.

"Foaly?" Root prompted sharply.

"I picked up a signal coming from the house. You tried to start up a computer device of some kind, coded it to the internet. It would have been unhelpful, but you didn't do it so that you could use it. You did it to get our attention."

Artemis nodded. "I did. But I didn't get onto the internet, nor would you have been able to tell if I had. The satellites that I was trying to access wouldn't have registered another signal opening. They aren't updating broadcasts."

"Well, Foaly says he could tell, and you say he couldn't. Foaly found you, though, so I don't see what the-"

"Come here, Holly," Artemis said, commanding without to trying to be, cutting off Root before he could finish and leaving the officer to turn pink with anger.

Holly smiled a little, the situation suddenly seeming much less serious. Artemis was alive. Root was irritable. Once this was cleared up, maybe they could start something new. With that in mind, she stepped to be in front of him.

"Look at my eyes," he murmured, holding them open wide. Blue, ringed by grey and then green, they looked perfectly normal.

"Artemis, are you trying to be funny? Because this is not the time for-" but then she stopped, words turning to dust in her mouth. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she reached forward and plucked the contact lens off his eye, revealing a familiar, gold-dusted hazel. She touched her cheek. The same as one of hers.

She withdrew, turning the tiny contraption over on her palm, and saw that underneath, machinery clicked through a continuous series of phases.

"Foaly," she hissed, lips drawing up over her teeth, "what is the meaning of this?"

Root held out a hand, and she passed him the lens without comment. His hands began to shake again, and he nearly dropped it before she managed to snatch it back.

"I- Holly, please try to understand," Foaly said, voice becoming hoarse.

"This is evidence, that's what this is. Proof that you-"

"That I what? I have committed no crimes, Holly."

"Vice Captain Short," she corrected, voice full of malice, but his words wrung in her ears. Coming down from her high of anger was like falling from a great height. Dizzying. She threw a hand to the wall to maintain her balance.

He was correct, of course.

"Dr. Foaly, you disgust me," she growled, red hair obscuring her face.

"Let me explain," he said, eyes pleading. "Please, Holl- Vice Captain Short. Just hear this one thing from me, and I promise I will never bother you or yours again."

"I think that would be wise," Root said, and though the anger was not totally gone from his face, his voice was steady. When he looked at the head of technical support, his eyes could have belonged to the young man in the chair beside him.

Holly scowled, sensing that she was trapped. "Fuck you," she said roughly, but pulled a seat around and straddled it, resting her head on her hand and her eyes on Foaly.

"Yes, I knew what was happening to Artemis. But if I had told you- any of you- tell me you wouldn't have rushed surface in an instant and gone to save him."

"Of course we would have!" Holly shouted, her seat clattering to the floor as she stood up.

"Forgetting about all the other humans in the process," Foaly continued softly. "Artemis was the only one who knew you, but does that mean that he had more right to live than any of the others? Does his being your friend make him a god? Does it really change anything, Holly?"

She righted her chair and sat back down, fuming. "It makes a difference," she insisted, not looking at him, but not correcting his use of her name either. It felt like she was having a conversation with a stranger. "He was one of ours. By your logic, why should we bother saving anyone? You would have been able to see that there were no weapons that we could not combat in sight. Hell, having an insider somewhere could have served as the starting place for a surge. We could have had him do a little digging."

Root licked his lips. "I agree with Holly. We spent all that time picking away at the edges of civilization and it was doing us no good. An insider would have been ideal."

"He couldn't have done any digging, Captain," Foaly said, an unpleasant expression painting his face.

A soft, whining noise stopped the conversation, and they all turned at once to look at the source.

Artemis's head had fallen back onto his chair, dark hair all over his face and neck. His expression was neither slack nor peaceful, so it took Holly a moment to realize he was asleep.


	3. Chapter 3, Coming Clean

Thanks to my beta, TexasDreamer01!

Chapter 3

Coming Clean

(A boring, 'Oh, woe is me,' 'poor little Arty' sort of chapter. Gr. I would flame myself if I were able to.)

A tense hour later, Artemis sat on top of a table, cross-legged, weary but at least conscious. A few nurses had come in and tried to put him on another drip, but he had brushed them away, his cold tone easily silencing their protests.

His mouth tasted like death, he complained. Not surprising, really, as he had bitten his tongue while sleeping and the first thing he did upon returning to awareness was spit a globule of viscous blood and onto the floor. Holly cast a desperate look at Root, who passed her a stick of nicotine gum.

"Tastes like baking soda," Artemis said thoughtfully, then yawned. Holly only shrugged, getting a bit irritated.

"Story, Artemis. Now."

Root nodded, and Foaly picked up a glass of water to take a deep gulp, meeting no one's eyes.

Artemis leaned backwards, swinging his legs like a child. He looked like one, too, too bony to look manly, and the stain of sunburn across his white cheeks reminiscent of a blush. His eyelids drew back, slippery and fluttering.

"Over history, when a war starts, there is a sudden clamor for knowledge. Science and math become the highest priorities of the government, with the hope that some edge can be gained over the enemy. Not in pursuit of peace, no, that is what diplomacy is for, but in pursuit of victory.

"When China launched its first missiles towards the US, I decided that it would be safest to leave the States. It was only a matter of time, after all, before a missile managed to get past the NMD. It was a faulty program, and while I had made a few adjustments hacking in the system, it would hardly be enough to stand up to a new era of stealth technology the likes of which I had never seen.

"I left for Ireland in low spirits, taking only Butler, Minerva, and my parents with me.

"When I reached Ireland, however, I received a letter, discreetly coded into the film of one of the watch cameras at my house. The message informed me that I was invited to a convention of international intelligence at a set location.

"Having put a great deal of work into my camera system to keep out both my human a non-human business competitors and enemies, I knew that whoever had contracted me was clever. Not clever like you, Holly, clever like Minerva and I."

Holly shifted, unsure whether to be offended or not, but decided against it. She had the mad urge to smack him across the head in the playful manner she used to, but she chewed her lip and tucked her hands into her pockets instead.

"I always assumed that I would find others like myself. Mathematically, I had only met a small portion of the world population, and both myself and Minerva exhibited genius level IQs.

"I assumed that they had heard about my advent with the C-Cube, as upon touching on some old relationships, I discovered that my mysterious contact bothered to network even the highest members of the national criminal community."

"Who did you contact?" Holly asked, and then withdrew slightly. Artemis, however, didn't so much as glance her way.

"The head of the Italian and Russian mafias, the New York and New Jersey branches. Don't look so surprised, none of them knew about my Irish heritage.

"Minerva confided in me that she, too, had received a message coded into her hand camera. She had taken up photography in an attempt to document the war for future generations, and being fond of hoarding her knowledge, she was concerned that some one had managed to get their hands on her photo journal.

"We discussed our option, and decided that it would be unwise to attend the conference. The manner in which we had been contacted was purposeful, a warning that we were tagged and outwitted. If our correspondents were trying to scare us, it seemed more than likely that the meeting was about weapons, something neither of us wanted to be involved with.

"With any luck, we hoped to avoid any involvement in the war at all.

"Only two weeks later, however, on the night that the meeting was scheduled, both Minerva and I were seized.

"I was drugged and taken from my bed. Butler was shot four times. He died. My mother and father were shot in their sleep. I was not awake to see it, but I was shown the footage upon arrival at AMN."

"AMN?" Root asked sharply, moving to draw a palm sized computer from his pocket.

Artemis gave a tiny twitch of the lip that might have been a smile. "It was what they told anyone who spoke English to call the organization. An acronym for 'Any Means Necessary.'

"In the end, my predictions where not terribly far off.

"Those with great intellect had been gathered from all over a series of allied European countries, though we were never told which ones. AMN wasn't even the real name of the organization. The founders were paranoid that one of us might escape and tell their secrets. Oh, everything was very secret.

"I woke the first time in a sealed room with no windows and a door with no handle. Behind that, I soon learned, was another locked chamber that only opened from the outside. I had been sedated for thirty hours, so I was brought to the medical unit to be treated for dehydration.

"Minerva was there, and we were allowed to talk, provided we let ourselves be monitored. It was the last time I spoke to her face to face, and we agreed not to help with any cause that could be violent."

He closed his eyes, throat rippling as he swallowed. When he spoke again, his voice was so detached he might have been talking about a documentary on the History Channel.

"After that, they tried to convince us.

"Most of the time we were sedated. At meals we were roused and brought into a lunch hall, and for an hour after that, we could socialize. Men and women ate separately. Interrogations where randomly scheduled. I was pulled out of bed perhaps once ever five cycles –I can't be sure if they were actually days– to be questioned and wheedled.

"Occasionally somebody would break and decide to help, and they were taken away. Other times, they would just break, and they were also taken away.

"People like me, you must understand, cannot function under such little stimulation. It came as no surprise when many of my companion's mental states began to dissolve. Luckily for me, my body found a solution.

"In simple terms, I figured out how to be awake even while sleeping. I didn't dream, but I maintained a high level of conscious activity without my body being able to move. Except when I fainted, I could exercise my mind under the influence of the sedatives.

"My only clue as to how much time had passed was the increase in the desperation of the interrogations.

"They wanted a missile stealth system one day, a poison specifically designed to kill human optic nerves the next, a way to control this or that biological weapon. When few caved, the means became steadily more violent." He paused again, and then lifted up the sleeve of his shirt.

Holly cringed. His arms… and he was only a child still. She remembered what Artemis had looked like, back arched as his ribs slid back into place. The incident hadn't disturbed her, and as far as she could tell at the time, the little bit of pain could only serve to encourage some humility.

This was different. This was a thousand, thousand times worse.

She heard the telltale sliding sound of Root opening his box of cigarettes without realizing she knew it.

"Artemis, let me…" she said, stepping closer, hands glowing faintly blue. He shook his head.

Foaly's hooves made a hollow thud as he paced back and forth across the carpet. Root said the clattering jarred his nerves, reminded him of his smoking days, which was silly. Everything jarred Roots nerves, these days.

Holly imagined a few steps ahead, her breakfast strewn across that carpet, and swallowed to keep her throat from rippling the wrong way. She was supposed to be a soldier, damn it.

"The arms and legs were the first thing they aimed for, and that lasted for maybe ten sessions. Nothing that could permanently wound, of course." He frowned, like when he was younger and working through a complex math problem. When they were friends. When they were children.

"So there were a few deaths, mostly by infection." He shrugged. "AMN wasn't put off their newest strategy, as for the first time in however long, they were getting results. Each mealtime, there were less and less people.

"They stopped bringing us to the infirmaries, treating us in our rooms instead. We were not permitted communicate during meals. More secrets, more isolation. Again, their paranoia.

"I don't remember much after this point. Maybe some form of amnesia."

"I can recall these details, but nothing of my own experiences. I don't know what…" His voice drifted off, and for the first time, his face looked vulnerable.

"Dissociative Amnesia? Or perhaps Traumatic?" Foaly asked, but he had the piece of mind to speak softly. If his tone had held anything but the deep sadness she heard there, Holly would have blasted a hole through him.

Again, Artemis hardly seemed to notice the interruption.

"I do not believe it is Traumatic Amnesia, as I am fairly sure that nothing would have been done to jeopardize my brain. As for Dissociative, that is usually a symptom for victims of singular, violent attacks, usually in the case of rape. I don't think anything of that nature happened to me." He paused, apparently to collect himself, though his voice did not waver or pitch in the slightest. "Rather, I am inclined to believe that my mind built up a barrier of original construction, unlike any that have been under study before. I managed to do a small amount of research into the subject in what was left of my private library."

Foaly gave a tiny, choked whinny and wrapped his arms around Holly from behind. She lifted his hands from her person on instinct, but turned her face into his shoulder anyways. The gravity of the situation coming down on her felt like rocks raining off her back and sides. She didn't want to hear anymore.

She knew she had to.

"One day the alarms went off. Somebody came into my room and pulled me out. Minerva was there.

"There was a rescue mission, she explained, established by a few members who had pretended to give in under interrogation.

"On the way out of the building, we traveled though a corridor covered in mirrors. I was warned not to look, that it could disturb my psyche, but I did anyways.

"It was then that I realized I still had the iris cam in.

"I didn't dwell on it at the time, though, thinking that the camera couldn't possible still be in working order. Thinking that there was some mistake.

"There were many traps on the way up, of course, but the conspiracy had grown among the upper rings of AMN with great success and most of the obstacles were disabled by the time our party reached them. Unfortunately, some were still in effect, and a team of guards came out after we set off an alarm system.

"I remember that I was holding Minerva's hand. Some sort of gas had been released, and being the smallest of the party, I was affected the most. I remember her gripping my hand very tightly, and screaming, and breaking my fingers when her hand left mine. I was picked up and carried away; I am not sure by whom. I don't remember anything else except several gunshots, which I heard only after leaving the corridor where we had been sabotaged.

"I had no magic left to unlock the doors when we reached surface, but our party used brute strength to knock them down. There was a headcount; we had lost ten, leaving eight survivors.

"We traveled as a group to the remains of a nearby city. We were in Great Britain, and we had been in AMN for nearly five years."

Artemis's eyes flashed open unexpectedly, so similar to Holly's. In those eyes, she could see a spark of something close to insanity, or maybe just the opposite; too much constant clarity on a troubled mind. "Five years, Foaly. Five years in Hell."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Don't know how much you know about the mafia, but they different groups are primarily divided by race and distrust people of other ethnicities. There's a lot of stuff about blood and family and all the jazz. Within the united states, there are different branches of each family. Like in the Sopranos, it's the Italian mafia, but Tony is the head of the New York branch and runs into trouble working with the New jersey branch, who have a different leader.

Kay, so his narration is totally OOC, Holly's reaction… gah. If I was reviewing this fiction, I would be angry.

However much I hate excuses, here are a few of my own: this story is about them returning to how they used to be. By the end, they will hopefully be way IC. Also, I have been kind of stressed with school and wrote this chapter in tiny bits of spare time because I felt guilt. Not great circumstances to be writing under.

**I have 74 page views on chapter 2, and only 5 reviews. Please, please, please review! Didn't manage to get to the soup kitchen this weekend? Redemption is still possible! Lend me your words! Click the bottom of the screen! Ask yourself: What would Buddha do?**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: No Title. Bah. Creativity has crash-landed. Alert the paramedics.

Lunch could not have been less pleasant. Foaly watched a fly sitting on Root's unmoving hand, Root watched Holly's stony expression twitch occasionally, and Holly watched Artemis, who was watching nothing in particular.

Once, Foaly tried to speak. "Fowl… Artemis, I… you must try to understand how sorry I am-"

"Remember that one interrogation after Luke went crazy?" Artemis asked. His was tone light and condescending, as insubstantial as cobwebs in wind, but his eyes narrowed a fraction. "The time they put screws in my arm with a power drill? What you might not have seen, because they blindfolded me, was that they twisted them the wrong way when they stuck them in. There was no way to get them out cleanly, so the medics had to cut them away, like you do with earrings when the holes close. Only the slits went down my entire arm."

Everyone stared, and Artemis pushed his untouched lasagna away with a yawn.

"I'm going to go look at myself in the mirror, now. I haven't seen myself in five years." He gave a short laugh. "Then I'm going to take a shower."

Root balanced the tips of his fingers together and stared hard into his soup. Holly stood up abruptly, knocking her tray flying, then snapped down her visor and stormed away. Her pace increased as she crossed the room, and Trouble sent a rather confused glare after her when she knocked into his shoulder had enough to make him drop his drink.

Foaly sighed heavily, stirring his tea with a parrot on a stick. "I feel old, Julius," he said softly. No reply came.

Holly went strait to the front desk.

"I want to go on a mission," she said, sliding her visor up while she spoke so the beginning of her sentence was lost. "Topside rehabilitation. Soonest opening."

The faerie behind the desk blinked behind thick, fake glasses and glanced between his paperwork and her nametag several times, shuffling pages unnecessarily all the while. She felt her eye twitch.

"Ah, Vice Captain Holly Short. There's one going on right now, actually, through terminal 3.008. It wasn't quite full, I'm sure you could sneak in if you hurry."

Holly nodded curtly and headed off at a jog, starting up the blasters on her wings with two deft flicks. They were buzzed to life, a comforting hum against the blades of her back, and she leapt into the air with several seconds before the terminal dropped off. She maneuvered herself easily through the arching port entrance, past a civilian warning sign, and into the dark, earth tunnel beyond.

There was a pod bellow her, and she cursed softly, urging her wings to full speed. The wind pulled back her hair, tugging at her scalp. The space beneath her feat flurried with brushed off dirt, dancing in wake. She could here the ping-ping-ping as the tiny particles were flattened against the pod's side like rain on Juliet's big black car when she was driving too fast.

Holly tucked her hand into the dents of her hips and gave herself one last boost of speed as she approached the door. The minders in the pod opened the gates automatically and she erupted into burning-bright sunshine and burnt-out houses without a second to spare. The pod roared past her at 300 clicks, fast enough to have squashed her. Watching it race into the dreary, dusty sky, she found that she didn't care much.

A green grid flickered across her vision, pinpointing a hospital ward in the skyscraper to her right. She dropped a few feet and slipped through a broken window.

A pixie named Eliz looked up from where she was sewing up a wound with a simple needle and thread. It wasn't uncommon to run out of magic anymore. People didn't have the time to wonder around searching for acorns and ancient trees and u-bent rivers.

"Holly," she said in greeting, then looked back to her patient, a hopeless expression chilling her face. Holly followed her gaze to see a young Mud Man, maybe twenty, with dark hair and a bloodied face. One of his eyes was sealed shut with drying gristle. There was something not right about the way his eyelid bent in.

"He was standing next to a window," Eliz explained, voice low so as not to disturb the other patients. "His eye is punctured; I think there is still some glass in there that I can't get out."

Holly licked her lips and walked over, weaving between makeshift hospital beds, groaning humans, and somber faerie attendants. She knelt beside the man's bedside, and was surprised to see that his eye was open, a smudged, watery brown. The corner of his mouth twitched and trembled into something close to a smile.

"Ah, another faerie," he murmured, voice like sandpaper rubbing together, or rather like somebody had sanded the inside of his throat. "Did the nukes give you healing powers too?" He barked a laugh, and Holly saw that the inside of his mouth was blackened and lumpy. His expression frosted and he stared at her hard with his one good eye. "Lucky. All I got was cancer and busted eye."

She swallowed hard and placed her hands on his cheeks, feeling his injuries sucking at her reservoirs of magic. Originally, she had always begun treatments with some sort of pep talk -having magic heal your wounds wasn't always pleasant- but she'd dropped the act after realizing their simply wasn't enough time to spin a bunch of crap.

Instead, she took a deep breath, and released her magic. The Mud Man arched up on the bed with a grunt, mouth falling open and eye wide, dancing with sparks. They burnt his skin where they fell on his face, as with all strong healing spells. Getting the big injuries out of the way was priority, but she went back and healed the little wounds once he was mostly done. Having his face back to normal would help him get his psyche back in order.

She remembered Artemis's arms, his bitterness, and shuddered.

But maybe… maybe if she could get him to let her heal them, maybe he would go back to normal. Maybe if he no longer had such a constant reminder of the atrocities done onto him, he could move on.

The man beneath her hands jerked and coughed, eye pulling open with a sticky sound. She stood and walked away before he had a chance to speak, pulling her chain of acorns from inside her uniform. She tossed a few onto the table, receiving grateful looks from many of the seated folk, and leapt out the window.

She activated her wings only after a second of freefall, kicking off the wall and shooting strait for the edge of the city. She was going to need all of her magic for this.

"Last guy down," one of the guards said, nudging a body with his toe. The dead man rolled over with a thud, blood spilling from where it had pooled on his stomach and into the dirt. Tendrils of liquid crept across the ground without like shadows, staining hard packed dirt and ash a violent crimson. "Went down easier than the others, though." He faked a yawn, shoving his gun back in its holster, still warm and smoking. "Shame, I could have done with a challenge."

His companion in arms shrugged, eyes serious behind dark glasses. Her hair was short and black, her clothes standard grey with several crisscrossing, blue belts supporting an assortment of weapons. A badge across her chest boasted an unhelpful title in red letters: 'Guard.'

She cocked her head to one side, flicking up a hand to fiddle with her ear pierce. "Shut it, Grey," she said in a voice like scissors closing over flesh. "We're getting a signal from command."

A girl gasped behind them. She looked distinctly out of place. She carried no gun, and her entire body was swathed in black apart from her hands, ice white and laced with scars, and a single golden curl beating the edge of her hood. Even buried in fabric, she was thin as a flower stalk in March.

Both guards ignored her outburst.

The woman spoke, low and fast, as a message came through. "Boss says congratulations on the latest kill. We are to burn the body but not return to the base." Her eyes widened, eyebrows shooting past the rim of her glasses. "He says there is one person left to track."

"No!" The girl shouted, head flashing up. Her eyes were blue and flat as sea glass, her cheeks bruised and layered with dirt. She looked like a skinned selkie too far from the sea- pale as death and unsteady on landlocked feat. "They said- the commander told me he wouldn't be hurt. I won't let you touch him! I won't let you anywhere near him! I'll-" Her voice cut off as a fist connected with her cheek, and she stumbled back, catching herself on a blood-barked tree.

Grey smirked, but his companion only twitched, still listening hard. "Commander says that he promised the kid wouldn't be killed." Her lips quirked, as if at an inside joke. "And as long as Minerva finds him, he won't be. But if we have to be the ones to do it- and we'll get him, it'll just take a few months longer- she can be assured that we'll be using him to keep her in line."

Minerva gave a choked sob and raised her hand to her mouth. Grey threw back his head and barked a laugh before drawing his gun and clicking off the safety, pointing the double barrel at her knees.

"Let's move, princess. I believe you have some work to do."

She didn't budge, pressing her back hard into the tree, face turned partially away and eye screwed shut. "You can't. He's not… why do you need him, anyways? Why couldn't you have taken one of the others?"

He shrugged. "Your choice, honey bunch. Either you stop bitching and follow us back to the hotel, or I shoot out your knees and carry you. Decide quick, though. We don't have all day."

She stood still, quivering, and a line of blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and over her chin.

He frowned, kicked the dirt, and jerked his head to the second guard. "Smith, she bit her tongue again. Boss says she isn't aloud to do that. What do I do?"

Smith snorted and mussed her hair. "I'll do it, Grey. You just don't know how to deal with children."

She turned and strode to stand in front of Minerva, pulled off her glasses, and reached out to take both of the girl's hands in her own. She bent down a little, widening her eyes and pouting out her lower lip until she looked like a concerned mother before a toddler.

"You gonna help us, honey?" She murmured in a voice as soft as spun sugar.

Minerva shook her head, and without so much as a change in expression, Smith twisted both of her hands hard in opposite directions. There was a sickening, duel popping sound, and Minerva's face crumbled in pain. She wrenched her arms back and held her hands in front of her, expression incredulous, tears parting the grime on her face. Her fingers and wrists were bent, dislocated in several places, and twisted so that they looked inhuman. Cartilage slid beneath the skin when her fingers twitched, and a tiny pained sound rose in her throat.

"I-you-my hands-" she whispered, incoherent, numb.

Grey frowned, kicking a tree hard enough that the wood splintered. "I coulda done that," he muttered in obvious irritated.

Smith's façade fell and she spun on her heal, marching away with an air of superiority. "Shut up, both of you. Come on. We'll pop her hand back into place tomorrow, so long as she's a good little girl and does what she's told."

"Where are we going?" Grey asked, trotting after her. The prisoner would follow. She was an arrogant brat, but she wasn't above the natural order of things. The first rule of the Age of Power: know your betters and serve them well.

Smith stopped, pulled out her gun, and fired three times into the air. She didn't turn when she spoke, and her words were nearly lost in the vast stretch of barren land before her. "We're going to the citadel. We need some computers if we're going to be tracking Fowl again.

Review replies/Questionnaire:

Mala: Sorry! I really should go back and add a description of the time placement in chapter 1. I'd basically forgotten most of the plot, just the characters remain. So, this story disregards Root's death, the twins, and a good deal of time. In this time warp, Minerva is 19, Artemis is 16, They were in AMN for 5 years.

JuliennePotato: I'm glad you decided to pick up and review, reviews mean the world to me. Juliet died in the American bombings, or at least, that is what Artemis thinks. I'm not actually totally sure. I have some things planned, but mostly I'm just going with it. Do you think she should be alive?

AkitaFallow: Teehee, yes, I just love beating up on other authors' characters. On my original characters too, actually. Huh. About his arms: I was just thinking that they were all scarred up. Threw in the first part mostly for you, but that's not all that happened. I might have some flashbacks. Writing tasteful graphics is one of my specialties.

Cahawk: Glad you didn't find the story or the ooc-ness offensive. I will try to draw this out some. I just hope I can finish it!

ArtemisFowlFreak9023: Thanks!

Gun toten Girly: Yup! I'm Buddhist and Jewish. Buddhism is more of a state of mind, it coincides with other religions peacefully, which is nice. Considering I'm so anti-war, it's kind of weird that so many of my stories surround wars. Then again, I right about live dissection and incest as well, and I don't approve of those either.

Hopelily: Huh. I guess that makes him technically 20 and legally 23 in this fiction? Oh well. I fudged a bit. See the first reply for some background. I really should have worked this into the story some more, but whatever. When all the adults call them children, it's more because Holly is 90 something and the guards are… well, you'll just have to read on and see! I'll definitely try to break up my information-vomit in chapter 3. I have a habit of regurgitating too much history all at the same time.

Astrophysics Rock: Here's you update! I hope you continue to enjoy, I've been in a bit of an inartistic lull.

sh0gun: Thanks, I think. What's a tbh? –wince- I feel like such a n00b… even the fact that I'm using the word n00b is n00bish.

Nickywa321: Dark is my other specialty. Seriously. Nor From Hell is super-dark, but then, it probably wouldn't make much sense if you haven't read New Moon, so…

CHAPTER REVIEW AND IMPORTANT JAZZ:

This story disregards Root's death, the twins, and a good deal of time. Minerva is 19, Artemis is 16, they were in AMN for 5 years. (basicly a repeat of Mala's reply, but…) The eye-cam was just something he had since book 3. Did it say that he gave it back? If so, I am dearly sorry.

This chapter was a bit rough in coming. Sorry about the lack of artfulness, and for MORE ooc-ness. I promise promise promise that the pain will end by the end of the story.

21 REVIEWS! THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH, I BEND BEFORE YOU AWESOMENESS.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

No title

POLL:

I'm not really sure if I should give Artemis's horrors any more face time than I already have. As you can see already, I have a taste for the graphic. If I did do anything about Artemis's stay in AMN, it would be tasteful. (If I see one more fanfic with 'toy,' 'pet,' or 'broken' in the summary, I think I'm going to vomit.) Here are the options that will likely come into play in the next couple of chapters:

Have some specifics. It will ground Artemis's wimpiness and torturing people is fun!

No specifics, just make sure to flesh out Artemis's character.

Add some specifics, but vague ones. You know? Like have him after an interrogation. Dark, but not graphic. Gore is a bore.

"You want to heal me," Artemis repeated, a condescending smile parting his pale face. Holly shifted, scowled. In all her memories of him, in all those hours of praying and reminiscing, she didn't remember him being such a dick.

"And you have a problem with that?" She returned.

He shook his head, dark hair sticking to the corners of his eyes. She had woken him up, but other than the wetness in at the edges of his corneas he hardly looked tired.

"Let me put this into perspective for you, Holly. I spent five years learning to dread human touch, and now you want to pin me down and force me through all that again just so that I don't have so much extra scar tissue?"

She pulled back a little, tilting her head. "Is this what has become of the last Fowl? Too afraid to try to help himself in the hope of helping others? We are humanity's only hope! Without us, they will be lost."

Artemis didn't consider, simply slithered from his bed wearing only pajama bottoms and pulled on his robe. "Let them die," he said, smooth as flat campaign.

Holly winced, shutting her eyes and clenching her fists. She need to get rid of some magic, it fizzed against her will along the knuckles of her fingers, flashing blue at the corners of her eyes. When she'd gotten it back, intending to use it, the prickling pain had been bearable, but the prospect of having to bottle it up for more than a few more minutes left her sure that it would tear her to pieces.

"Is there nothing you want, Artemis? Isn't there anything you care about?"

He paused at the door, and for a moment she feared his answer.

"There might be something, Holly. Might be. Juliet did not come with me to Ireland. There is a chance, though a slim one, that she has survived, living in New York. If you can bring her to me, then maybe I will see the validity of your work and offer my services for whatever Foaly is planning."

Holly blinked and felt duel knives drill into her core. One for the hope that Artemis might have a fraction of decency left in him, and one for the fear of what would happen to it if she couldn't find Juliet. Whatever the case, she knew both pains would stay in her for a long time, all the longer when he turned around, expressionless, and raised an eyebrow.

"Done," she said, and took his hand to shake. The fingers were bent where they met hers, disguised beneath long sleeves. They sucked at her magic, and she withdrew quickly.

Leaving the room after him, she refused to run. She had run before, run from Artemis, from Foaly, from herself. Now, though, she had to make things right.

She arrived at the front desk to find the same, pug-nosed. He looked up at her and wrinkled his nose, staring at where her nametag should have been.

"Name and rank."

"Vice-Captain Holly Short. I want an access pod to the Americas. First possible into a New York port."

He drew back, pulled his glasses off and squinted, too-long eyelashes fluttering. "What's this?"

She sighed, leaning on his desk and putting on her best irritated-officer face. "It's for Foaly, okay? Special mission. Top secret."

He gave a dismissive little snort. "I'm the Head Secretary of Topside, Vice-Captain Short. Nothing is top secret to me."

She allowed herself a smile. "Oh really? And have you seen the order forms through here for all those Mud-Men medicines? What did you think those were for?"

His face paled in disgust. "You don't mean one of those dirty things is down here?"

"And let's think for a minute: which one of them would be important enough to host in secret?"

"Not Artemis Fowl," he whispered, looking sick.

"Of course not. I mean, wouldn't they have told the Head Secretary of Topside?"

He stared for a moment, then swung to face his computer.

"It's very dangerous in the USA right now, but I can get you there by morning. A divergence pod will be released in two hours, the mags should be able to drag one of the empty ones off course and get it onto a path here without me having to adjust any of the lifters."

She shook he head. "Too slow. Adjust all the lifters you have to, we'll have your back if anyone asks questions."

"Who's we?" He asked, clearly trying to sound casual, but his fingers paused on the keyboard.

"Wish I could tell you. Surmise it to say that as long as I'm in New York in two hours, then you'll never have to hear about any of this again."

"Fine," he said, turning to look at her. "It'll be here in 10 minutes. I pulled it of the Eastern Magma watch."

She smiled her thanks and walked to the port, glaring into the darkened passage beyond. She didn't like lying, not really, but something about spinning another universe was thrilling.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 (USA, Topside, 1 PM)

Grey stretched across one of the beds, eyes fixed on the television screen, wrinkling a stiff, ocean themed comforter as her rolled to see better. A game was playing on the scene, animated explosions shaking lifters under his bed. After demolishing an entire city, a red slide splattered with fake blood popped up, playing a rock jingle and telling him he'd won.

He snorted and closed his fist over the controller. When he opened it, there was nothing left but a collection of fractured plastic and twisted, disconnected wire. He brushed off his hands, showering the bedspread with debris, and turned to Smith. She sat on the other bed, at the far end of the room, aware from the window and sunlight.

"Stupid game," he grunted. "Wish we had something to do."

Smith shot him a glare, eyes flashing behind dark glasses and an overly-shinny laptop balanced on her knees. "We do have something to do. Track Fowl."

"Yeah, yeah. And after that what're we gonna do? Once he's dead-"

"We aren't going to kill him, Grey." Her eyes narrowed with irritation as she glanced at the girl cowering in the corner, nursing her bruised hands. "Commander has no intention of killing him."

"The hell not? He's just a kid. We've got this one. We've got all those guys back at AMN who don't try to bite people. Don't see why it has to be girly here tracking them all down, either."

"She's a familiar face, it gives us an edge. Besides, her programs might not take well in anyone without her specific chemistry. Remember Luke? His brain was too fucked up, he couldn't support them. You were pretty well and screwed when you came in, and yours were some of the fastest to manifest. Other than mine, of course, and Minerva's, and Commander's, and maybe a few more guards at the citadel."

Grey scowled. "Sure, but what does she think? Hey, you! Answer my damn questions."

Minerva whipped her head around to look at him with wide eyes, white visible almost all the way around her irises. "Wh-what?"

"Why do you think you're on this assignment? Why do you think they don't wanna kill the Fowl boy?"

She swallowed and pushed her back against a wall so she could rise without having to use her hands. "I don't know."

"Humor me. Take a guess. Unless you want me to get Smith to crush your fingers again?"

Smith didn't look up, merely tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, pressed her fingers to her temples, and leaned forward.

"Maybe he has some kind of program. Something none of the other's could use," she said, and a note of hope entered her voice by the end. Looking for his approval, maybe. How pathetic.

He smiled anyways, and she crept along the wall to the bathroom, eyes locked on his teeth. "Stay a while, Mini. That was an interesting idea. What kind of program?"

She paused, sucking on her teeth. "I-I don't know."

"Oh? Are you sure you don't know?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Then why did you make a suggestion if you didn't know? Where you trying to lie to me? Are you trying to trick me, girly?"

"I-No! I was just-" I hint of fire entered her face and she balled her fists. "You told me to guess and I did. You can't punish me for that."

He grinned, leapt off his bed, and paced towards her in liquid steps. "Or you'll what?"

She swallowed, stealing herself, then met his eyes for the first time in weeks. "I'll use my programs. I'll do it. I'll make you-" (1)

Her words cut off with a sharp gasp and she clutched at her throat, struggling to gain breath. Smith had looked up from her computer.

"There'll be none of that. Both of you shut the fuck up." She waited for a minute or two, watching the blonde struggle and gag before releasing her invisible grip. Minerva fell to the ground, blue in the face, panting. "I've dealt with enough of your bull. You bicker like a bunch of whores over working hours."

Grey frowned. "You're always doing that. I could have handled her."

Smith heaved a sigh, massaging her temples, and brought a glad of something bubbly and golden to pursed lips. It was impossible to tell if she actually drank anything or not. "Fine. Next time I'll let her kill you. See if your reboot programs really work. They never were labbed properly, were they?"

He grunted, moved back to the bed and sat down, huffing out a bunch of air.

Minerva crawled to the corner, dragged herself up on a decorative end table using only her elbows, and slipped into the bathroom. The shower started running, whirring through huge, hotel pipes. There wasn't a holding tank for waste water anymore. The pipes emptied into the blown-out remains of the Empire State Building.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

(1)You cannot imagine the temptation to let her use her programs. I hate making her this weak. If we know 1 thing about her, it's that she's snobbish and thinks she is impervious. At any rate, there you have it: Minerva still has a little bit of spine. Just a little bit.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Review Replies!

First, sorry this chapter pretty much sucks. I have so many others things I have been doing, and I'm so stressed, and I couldn't help but dip into some more sci-fi ish ness. Freshman year is a drag.

winged-silhouette:

I hated Minerva too. Especially when she got Artemis. I don't really know if there will be any shipping, but probably not. I don't really do romance. At least not loving romance, that is, I have all the screwed up dependency issues and dub-con and incest and basically weirdness anyone could possibly want. Please vote on the poll.

ilex-ferox:

I'm glad you're enjoying it. I figure that fanfic is primarily about character development, I try to keep it realistic. I will definitely work on my scene changes. I added in captions this time, but I'm going to start setting up scenes without having to stick those in. Please cast your vote!

JuliennePotato:

I'm glad you like it, and glad that you think I have the emotions down, and glad that I made our hands itch (I… um… think…). And on the Juliet thing: it isn't what you're expecting, I can guarantee it. I have some twists planned. Does anyone know her last name, though? Please cast your vote.

AkitaFallow:

Yup, that was Minerva and those were Artemis's enemies. Glad you're enjoying it! Please cast your vote.

cahawk:

Heh, I forgot about the eye-glass. Glad you can take the graphicness. Please remember to vote!

Oh, and did I make my plea for votes on the poll yet?


	6. Chapter 6, Vultures in Jericho

Chapter 6

Vultures in Jericho (aka: another info dump chapter! Uneditted, I have been so busy, and I think I have the flu)

0o0o0o0o0

New York was in ruins.

Of course it was, Holly chided herself, all the major cities were. Moscow, Hong Kong, Berlin, Tokyo, Baghdad: piles of smoking rubbish. There something about seeing New York on her knees, though. New York, which had once been the commerce center of most of the world, the cruelest of places where desperate, greedy children lived on top of each other in smelly apartments, was startling.

Holly had seen a video of the bombs coming down on the flat screen in Foaly's office. It had been a display of fire power like none she'd ever imagined, the slow build of screams like death itself crawling up from the grave. Near the camera, a tour horse drawing a burning carriage had galloped by, possessed by madness close to ecstasy. Its screams had been mindless in agony, utterly unaware of what was causing its pain, like the cries of children.

There hadn't been any nuclear weapons, though. She had hoped, maybe, there might have been a few survivors. Hope was all she had to offer.

She narrowed her eyes, scanning the razed horizon. The remains of buildings lay in piles, bowed beams of metal swinging between what remained of walls. A bent building to her right dripped cable and weird, many hued shadows into a concrete crater beneath. The ground was the color of old blood.

The smart filters in her helmet instantly zoomed in, high def infrared hovering over her normal vision. A hotspot was just visible behind a mountain of steal, just a pinprick. It could have been anything, a wire still pumping electricity or a human being huddling in their devastated home.

She sighed, cranking up her localized air conditioning. It was midday, and getting hot under the burnt out atmosphere and smog. She leapt down from the pile of rubble she had been standing on, using her wings to land safely amid knife sharp debris. A roll of paper blew softly, caught in a puddle of grime.

"It's one of them. One of the little people," a voice said behind her. She started and swung around, finding herself eye to eye with a human woman, crouched to far over for her years, filthy and sickly and dragging a cart full of canned goods.

"Who are you?" She asked, then felt foolish. Turning on her speakers, she spoke again. "Who are you?"

The woman did not smile. "I am Elizabeth. And you are one of the little people."

Holly shifted, wondering how much she should read into Elizabeth's words. The ravings of the mad had often been mistaken for insight.

"What do you mean, 'one of the little people'?"

Elizabeth titled her head to one side. Her face was so dirty that it was hard to read her expression. She shrugged, the movement subtle between stiff shoulders.

"Come," she said, "I'll show you." She turned and shuffled away, her feet never more than a few inches apart. She was obviously injured, or had been, in such a way that kept her limping. Her cart caught on a pipe lines, and she grunted as she tugged it over, making her cans clang together. The noise was startlingly loud.

She didn't as much as glance back.

Holly stood in place for a moment, thinking, then followed. She had her gun if she needed it, but she didn't think she would. It might be easier to get Elizabeth to cooperate if she was somewhere where she felt comfortable.

Holly noticed that they were heading away from the hotspot she had seen before, and her curiosity peaked.

"Where are we going?" She asked. There wasn't an answer, so she tried again. "Are there other people there? Survivors?" It was an exciting possibly, and she quickened her pace until she and Elizabeth were level. When that drew no response, she sunk back with an impatient sigh and made the rest of the commute without protest.

Elizabeth slipped though a crack down the side of a wall, and, after a brief scan with her goggles, Holly followed through, into makeshift cathedral.

The dome was held aloft on a metal frame, fifty feet across, and was built from arches of inexpert metalwork. The floor was cleared and round, in the very center a fire blazed. Around the edges plywood crates were stacked in odd, boxy rows. Dozens of glittering, human eyes blinked and flickered with light, all of them fixed on her. Maybe a hundred people total.

She drew in a breath. Her infrared should have picked this up. Was she having some sort of a technical support collapse? She looked at the spinning earth icon at the edge of her vision to find that it was green, with all five bars blinking merrily.

"Elizabeth," someone chided softly. A human form slowly outlined itself in fire, and Holly squinted to see their face, opting not to use her hardware. She could tell that it was a man, but not much else. His voice was richer than butter. "Who have you brought here?"

The hunched woman didn't answer, just grunted softly and shuffled away into the darkness, so Holly introduced herself. "I am LEP Vice Captain Holly Short. I…" her voice trailed off, and she was suddenly unsure. She was usually good in civilian situations, but she was at loss of how to deal with these people. The heavy eyes watching her looked more like cats humans. More like rats, even. "I'm looking for someone."

There was an upheaval of whispering at her words, snapping around the fire like logs cracking in great heat. She spread her feet subtly on the ground, ready to take the air if she needed to. She didn't want to use her gun on these people.

"Make her go away, Bryan! We don't want anyone snatching around here!" Someone shouted, and several voices joined in, boasting their approval. Something whirled out of the dark and she sidestepped, watching it splatter across the metal behind her. It was a rotten fig.

The shadowed man shrugged, moving so that she could see his face. His skin was like old leather. "We have never been harmed by her kind before; I see no reason why we should be afraid now. I propose an exchange."

The protests died, and she felt hostility melting into resignation. Clearly this man was some sort of leader.

"You mean you'll trade me something for the information on where to find her?" Holly asked eagerly.

He nodded. "Come sit with us, and I will present my request first."

She took a seat on a pile of black tarp immediately, but flipped on her recording device. There was no way to broadcast it from this part of the city, except for a slot of time between 1:15 and 1:43 am when a makeshift satellite took its rounds. There where other ways to send signals, but for this mission, she hadn't requisitioned anything that could be used to track her.

"Firstly, my name for yours," he said. "I am Bryan Hobs. I worked in banking before we were bombed. You already gave your name and occupation, so we can move on." She nodded.

"Second order of business, I would like to know what LEP is. What information would you like in return?"

She thought for a moment, then said, "I want to know how you know about… about my kind. 'The little people,' Elizabeth called us."

He appeared thoughtful, and his deep as dark water voice almost startled her when he spoke. "I shall ask also what you know of AMN, in exchange for whatever information we can give on how to find whoever you search for. Please begin when you feel comfortable."

Holly drew in a sharp breath, heart beating fast behind her collarbone. AMN. The organization that had kept Artemis. Was it possible their influence stretched into New York? Even after the rebellion? If so, then she had a problem. A legion of Artemises, torn geniuses bent on destruction, or world domination, or whatever it was they wanted, could devastate every goal LEP had. She turned on the cooling filters by her hands.

Whatever information he had could be of vital importance.

"I am a faerie," she started. It didn't matter, telling these people. They already knew too much. "There are several million of us, and we have lived underground for thousands of years. Our technology is far greater than your own, so we build a replica of the surface to live on.

"And you can use magic, too?" Someone asked.

Holly paused, looking at the speaker. A young boy, from what she could tell, with a dirty face and messy hair.

"We possess magic," she answered slowly, weary of his eager tone, "which allows us to heal."

"But how did-" he began, but someone shushed him.

"Continue," Bryan said.

"The LEP is our police force. Since the war, we have been making an effort to help rebuild the world." There was a long pause, and she pooling her wits to answer the next question.

"How exactly do you intend to rebuild the world?" Bryan asked, and there was hard note in his voice that almost made her reach for her gun.

"We have been reducing levels of radiation, cleaning the air, getting rid of biohazards-"

He cut her off swiftly. "Have you thought at all about government?"

"I- no, we-" She paused, gathering a coherent answer. "There hasn't really been enough infrastructure resurrected to need that sort of thing, yet. So, no."

"And what do you know of AMN?"

She took a breath. "Very little."

"But you do know," he insisted, then his voice softened. "And you resent knowing."

"I know they collected people of high intellect and tried to use them during the war. I know they come from Ireland, and that AMN isn't their real name. I know a rebellion destroyed their base."

Bryan shook his head, then turned his head until the fire made his eyes dance. "Maybe one of their bases," he whispered.

Holly's stood perfectly still, barely breathing, and started when an alarm went off in her helmet alerting her of the sudden change in vital readings. She gulped in a mouthful of air. "What do you know about AMN?

He gave an almost smile. "What will you offer us in return?"

She bit her lip. "I can get you some supplies, I guess. I can get you whatever you need. We have everything down under ground."

"Your question demands a long winded answer, so I shall tell you everything I can and hope that together we can compile some answers." He paused, turning a signet ring on his smallest finger, before continuing.

"After the attacks on New York, there were only a few hundred survivors. A few remaining members of the government and law departments gathered us all together, and we established a functioning town with what we had left. The first year was hard physically, the second hard emotionally. People started dying again. Bad water, bad food, bad air quality. Some said we should pick up and head south, but most of us didn't want to. We had supplies, after all. The government had been predicting an attack, and after correctly guessing that all evacuation roots would be destroyed first, they set up other precautions.

"We spent out time rebuilding, hoping that some foreign government would save us, and we were reluctant to give that up. No messages have come from anywhere else in the US, and we have assumed the worst." He looked at her, and she swallowed.

"Most of the country has been bombed. You were right to assume."

He sighed. "It is as we thought, then. We stayed, we died. Soon, our company was only a few hundred.

"It was some time in April two years back when we noticed a bright light at the edge of our city, like a spotlight. Cautious from the war, we sent a party of twenty to investigate. They never returned. By morning, the light had gone out, and it did not return. Me a few others went to explore, but we found no bodies or light.

"Not soon after, a group who had gone to get supplies found a constructed vault at the bottom of a building. Inside, we found many useful things. Technology like we have never seen. Strange plastics which can be create a beerier of invisibility, canisters of fluid that make fires which give no smoke, acid that dissolves almost all substances, but stops when you command it to. A machine which keeps us safe from heat detection. Each item had a seal that read the same thing. AMN."

She licked her lips. "But how did you know about the infrared headgear?"

Bryan shook his head sadly. "I'm not finished yet, Holly. In the room there was a computer, which ran without a cord or battery from a wall screen. The computer had no protection, and we accessed the databases without difficulty."

There was a pause, and Holly leaned forward "What we found was horrifying. We learned about you, the faeries, but we weren't sure what to call you. They had thousands of files on your kind, all written in code." Holly frowned. That sounded like a major breach in secrecy, but not horrifying. He continued.

"At first we were confused. Little people with pointed ears and beads of tentacles and eyes like anime. But the amount of research was extension. Many of the images were… terrible."

"I- what?" Holly asked, a chill unfurled at the base of her spine. Animal instinct made her skin prickle. "What do you mean?"

"Your kind," he said slowly, voice filled with disgust, "were being butchered like cattle. Hundreds of you, hundreds of dissections. The dating started in 2000, averaging about one a week."

Holly felt faint. _Dissections?_ What he was saying couldn't possibly have been true. Couldn't possibly… He continued as though oblivious to her distress.

"It became clear that whoever had conducted the research was looking for something. The year that the war started, the research on faeries stopped. Instead, AMN turned its attention to human dissection.

"Human trials would be a better description, really. Only a few of us examined the computer in depth. They were developing some sort of brain surgery. After they perfected that, there were a series of more…" -he paused, drawing up his lip- "experimental surgeries, most of which we did not- do not- understand.

"Everything was coded, you must understand, but it seemed that the data stored in that computer was not complete. At first, most of the patients died, and I believe that all of the faeries died as well, or where killed. However, the survivors had no follow up, no indication that research or the effects of the surgery were being observed, or that the surgery had any purpose at all."

He paused, swallowing what Holly could only imagine was a tidal wave of emotion, while she tried to keep the world from tilting so much.

"We lit the place with gasoline and burned it, salvaging only what we thought could be useful. Some printed files showed a detailed map of some sort of head gear. They were labeled in English, and infrared was listed as one of the attachments to the goggle."

He stopped for a moment, and Holly turned her speakers off so that no one would here how her voice shook.

"We have found a few more vaults while exploring, and they have started disappearing after discovery. I can only guess what AMN wants in the city. It isn't us, or we would have been destroyed already."

Holly sat in stunned silence, trying not to take in anything he had told her. If she could keep her calm and complete her mission, she wouldn't have to worry about dealing with any of her knew information until she was back underground, safely reviewing her files with Root. She took a breath, stilling the racing of her heart and the jerkiness of her breath, and opened her visor.

"What have you found in the other vaults?" She asked haltingly. Just breath, just breath, don't think…

He gave her a long look, perhaps memorizing her features now that they were visible, perhaps just thinking. "None of them have been like the first. Most are simply rooms, fitted with couches and chairs. No food or water or technology. Any computers have been locked. We did find a handful of paper files." He looked distressed and shifted a little.

"What do they concern?" She forced herself to ask.

He hesitated, turning the ring on his finger again before reaching under a stack of tarps and drawing a handful of simple, off-white folders. He offered them to her, and she took them gingerly, noticing that each of the two dozen or so had a different number on printed on the cover. Taking a deep breath, she flipped open the first one.

A woman in her mid thirties smiled up from the page, waving enthusiastically. She had bright, brown eyes and black hair, and her free arm was slung around the neck of a wooden bear. In the bear's mouth was a sign that read Welcome to Wyoming. The photograph was glossy, and the back was patterned with the Wal-Mart insignia. Holly stared- she couldn't help it. The normalcy struck her in the gut, and her hands began to tremble as she turned the page. The other pictures were all the same, some blown up, some just scraps of larger compositions. At the back was a dusty newspaper clipping where the woman was slicing a ribbon with a pair of improbably large scissors. Swimming, laughing, making faces, eating ice cream…

She closed the folder and opened another, then another, and found similar faces: happy people, unaware that they were being watched.

"Who are they?" She whispered, then cleared her throat and repeated the question with more strength. "Who are these people?"

Bryan spread his long fingered hands. "I do not know."

"Do you think… do you think they're still alive?" She asked, pausing before a picture of a curly haired boy missing one front tooth. In some of pictures he looked older or younger by a few years. Flipping through the pages, she felt like she was getting to know him.

"I have no answers for you, faerie, but your concern comforts me. I must believe that you are here to help us. Now, you asked a favor, and I will grant it if I am able. What is it you seek?"

She set the folder down and took a breath. "A friend of mine was kidnapped by AMN at the beginning of the war," she started, and Bryan shook his head.

"We cannot help you get him back from there."

"I don't need you to. He escaped already. He had a friend in New York. Juliet. Juliet Butler. I came to find her for him."

Though the only noise before she spoke was the crackling fire, the world seemed quieter afterwards. Bryan shifted, eyes flashing copper. "What do you want with her?"

She paused. "I need to know more about AMN so we- LEP- can defeat them, and to do that I need Artemis's help. He is very smart but…" she broke off, unsure. "Not right. I'm hoping Juliet can beat him back into shape like she used to."

He was silent for so long that she wondered if he would answer at all, head tilted back and eyes half closed. "I'm sorry, Holly," he said at last, trading his gaze to his ring finger. "Juliet is dead." Her heart stopped. "But I do know someone who you might be interested in." There was a rustling from across the fire, and someone stumbled forward at a whispered urging.

A young boy with brown eyes and shoulder length, blond hair moved towards her, cheeks round with baby fat. Even beneath his youthfulness, she could see his mother's face shining through. Tears sprung to her eyes and she slid to the ground, arms outstretched.

"Come here, honey," she whispered. He shot a glance at Bryan, and upon receiving a nod, took the necessary steps to be within reach. He stiffened when she swept him into her arms, then relaxed, leaning his head into her shoulder. "What's your name?"

"My name's Emmet," he said, and she met Bryan's eyes over his head.

"Juliet died when he was two," he said, answering her unasked questions. "He's four now, and we've all pitched in to take care of him. It shouldn't be too problematic to his development if you were to take him with you."

"Emmet, sweetie," she murmured, lowering her nose into his hair. "Let's go home, okay?"

She hoisted him under the armpits, and he let her without protest. "I cannot thank you enough, Bryan," she said. "I will have some relief sent once I get back down. A few LEP-recons should arrive in about an hour with the supplies. I give them the coordinates, so you won't have to drop the shields."

He smiled. "Thank you, Vice-Captain Holly Short. That sounds a fare trade. Take care of him, for me."

She licked her lips, nodding a final time. She turned slowly; rigging up her anti gravity as she did so and snapping open her wings. They hummed, barely audible, as she jumpstarted her extensions. She rose into the air gradually, but Emmet did not speak, not even when she emerged under the night sky where the air didn't taste so much like smoke, not even when she rose until her form dissolved against the bulk of the moon.

In the east, the glistening infrared light that she had screen before continued to glow, and a cold shiver traced down her spine. It could have been a trap. It could have been a lost comrade, huddled in a puddle of sticky blood. In pain and alone.

There was a moment of indecision, all three of them frozen in the thickness of the night.

She flipped her infrared off and turned west.

She was going home.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Way hard in coming.

**NEXT CHAPTER IS ALMOST DONE, (and has some action) BUT YOU WON'T SEE IT UNTIL I HAVE MY 50 REVIEWS. **

That's not that much, guys, considering 11 people have this on story alerts. You can always go comment on older chapters.

0o0o0o0o0

artyfangirl316:

Thanks so much for reviewing! Your review made this chapter happen, actually.

AkitaFallow:

I'm probably going with vague. There will be some macabre, but probably not what you're expecting.

Taralome:

Glad you're enjoying it! I've never actually written sci-fi.

Gold is power:

Sorry about the wait!

ilex-ferox:

I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm sorry if this chapter was disappointing, I'm just… school, friends, getting really sick, my sister getting really sick, family wedding, family death… I've just been too distracted to write anything very good.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I'm not sure how hardcore all of you are, or how old, but if you want some really well written gore and know the KH fandom, check out Quakewithfear on livejournal. She's freakin' amazing. Read her 'Squick Fic.' It's rated really high, but just for disturbing imagery. No sex or anything.


	7. Chapter 7, Castle in the Sky

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Castle in the Sky

0o0o0o0oo0o0

A soft knock came at the door, and Foaly turned from the wall screen so quickly that his tail disturbed a coffee cup, splashing espresso and whipped cream all over a stack of papers. He hastened to grab a nearby towel- left over from a similar instance not an hour before- and called, overly loud, "Come in!"

The door opened half way, paused, then came the whole way open. An elf stood nervously in his doorway, wearing a standard white and blue medical uniform and carrying box of slide cards. 

"Ah, Mr. Dippet, so good to see you," Foaly said, tossing the wet cloth onto the couch so that Dippet had to remain standing. "Have you brought news of the patient?"

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, letting the door slide shut behind him with dreary resignation. "First, though, I wanted to ask you something. The mud-man, is he… _the _Artemis Fowl?"

Foaly snorted and swished his tail. "Does it matter?"

"Not… not really." The officer looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat. "Look, I was just wondering about-"

"I didn't hire you to could wonder, I hired you to take a look at the boy and see what's wrong with him," Foaly snapped.

Dippet narrowed his eyes, but strode across the room and placed one of the chips into the wall screen slot. A glowing image of a human body appeared on the both the screen and the 3-D system Foaly had rigged up. Both glowed faintly blue, but closer inspection revealed a details map of a thousand injuries, notes glittering on the side guessing at how they had been inflicted or when. 

"The injuries he has sustained are quite extensive. The oldest scar tissue I've found is about four and a half years old. Inflicted by, from what I can tell, a screw driver-" Foaly winced hard. Dippet paused, but hurried on when the centaur glared from under glossy copper bangs. "Targeted areas included the arms, legs, back and stomach, mouth-"

"Hm?" Foaly's hand shook, but he disguised it by grabbing for the coffee pitcher and plugging it back into the wall for a new cup.

"The roof and sides of his mouth, his tongue, the back of his throat are all heavily damaged." 

Dippet clicked a button to change the slide, this one showing the inside of a teenager's mouth. "Some scarring on the back of the throat indicates vomiting, not terribly surprising, while others where likely inflicted purposefully." 

He glanced at Foaly, took in his colorless face, and shrugged. "I'll spare you the details.

"He's malnourished , and has some stomach acidity imbalances. His growth has been stunted. He's 5'6 and 73 pounds. He has trouble holding his food. I would, regrettably, recommend an IV." 

"What, you want my approval now? Since when have you needed that?"

"It's not your approval we need, actually. He wouldn't let us put one in, or heal him in any way." Dippet scowled. 

"Don't get full of yourself," he snapped. "You know what people are saying, don't you?" 

He leaned forward, a darkness creeping into his voice and something bright into his eyes. "Rumor has it that you're the reason that boy's here. Saying that you where the one who let all that happen to him. Is that so, Commander?"

Foaly chewed at his tongue for a few seconds, unwilling to break the glaring battle that ensued. His coffee pot pinged that it was done, however, and he jumped, spinning on instinct. A disk file clattered to the floor and under the couch when his back leg her knocked a table wobbling. 

"We've been over this," he said. "You're not here to wonder. Get to the damn point."

Dippet withdrew, eyes widening, and turned to the screen. "None of these things would be particularly surprising for a high profile interrogation case stretching several years. Except… Well, his brain." 

It was at that exact moment that Holly Short burst into the room, dragging behind her a boy who Foaly would have recognized in a second life.

0o0o0o0o0

Holly took in the medic, Foaly's anxiously twitching tail, and the smell of burnt coffee, and didn't smile. She walked across the room in three long paces, Emmett stumbling and wide-eyed behind her. With quick, jerky movements that betrayed exactly how strung out she really was, she pulled a chip from her helmet and pushed it into a second, unoccupied wall slot. The medical scripts flickered, and a window popped up on the on the screen, asking which disk the user wanted to play.

Holly spoke without turning around. "Review this footage immediately. Meet me for lunch- no, breakfast- in four hours."

She turned to leave, but Foaly caught her hand. "Holly, wait. Where- what is the-?"

"Holly," a quiet voice cut off his rambling, and he looked down to find keen blue eyes on his face. "What is he?"

Completely ignoring Foaly, Holly answered Emmett's question. "He is a centaur. His name is Mr. Foaly. If I'm ever… not around… I guess you can come here."

Foaly blinked. Was that almost forgiveness? Seemingly reading his mind, she glanced over her shoulder and let her eyes harden. 

"You are one of the only folk who knows about Artemis. It's only practical."

The medic cleared his throat, and she looked over at him. "Will I have to examine this mud-man as well?" He asked, crossing his arms. "I have my hands quite full with the first devil-spawn. If I'm expected to treat two, I'm going to demand another 10 days vacation."

She snorted and he gave her an irritated sort of courtesy smile that said _I'm just kidding. But not really_.

"What's your name?" she asked. 

"Doctor Marcus Dippet."

"Vice Captain Holly Short, nice to meet you. And this is Emmett." A small smile parted her face. "Emmett Hobs."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Artemis blinked a few times when he heard a knock on his door. There were exactly three people who visited him regularly. The medic who brought him food, the medic who had brought him medicine, or Holly, back from Topside. 

As both of the former had already come through in the last two hours, her called "It's unlocked, Holly," and yanked the comforter a bit higher so he didn't have to get out of bed.

The door opened, and two pairs of feet stepped carefully inside before it closed again. "Holly, who's that?" His head snapped up at the high, musical voice, and his gaze met that of a chubby, dirty-faced child. 

"That isn't Juliet," Artemis said immediately, without really thinking.

Her eyes flashed at his tone and she bent down, picking the toddler up under the arms and carrying him over to Artemis, dropping him into a pile of abandoned pillows at the foot of the bed. 

"Emmett, meet Artemis. Artemis, Emmett. Emmett is Juliet Butler's son. Artemis is a friend of your late mother's." 

Both of them nodded, and Artemis surprised himself by sitting up enough to make eye contact while he shook the boy's hand. 

"My pleasure," he said. 

Emmett frowned. "No, it's not. You were hoping for my mother, weren't you?"

Artemis allowed his lip to twitch, almost wishing he could smile. "I was, but I don't have much of a choice, now that you're here. Perhaps you'll be useful as an adult."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Only if you want it to be."

Holly raised an eyebrow. Their conversation was stunted and awkward, and it was obvious that some of Artemis's words were lost on Emmett, but it… warm. Welcoming. She watched Artemis's pale eyes glittering in the dim light and knew that she'd made the right decision.

0o0o0o0o0o0o Topside, Citadel, Unknown Location, 4AM o0o0o0o0o0

"Minerva, pleasure see you again. Tell me, darling, what brought you all the way back to the Citadel?" 

Minerva winced, flicking her eyes up to the Doctor and then back down to the floor. It was paneled white, tilted slightly to a drainage point at the center. The mild smell of bleach made the hairs along her arms prickle, and the barely suppressed memories of those metal tiles drenched gore fought with her resolve to stay calm. The room was clearly a lab, hulking metal machines blinking and humming and cold, dancing flames, catching and reflecting back from stainless steel surfaces.

"I've been assigned another mission," she said, though she knew he already knew why she was there. "I came here to use you equipment to boost my powers."

"Oh, yes. I remember your case very well. How have the modifications been working out for you? No problems, no dizziness?"

She fisted her hands under her bell sleeves, grateful for the yards of heavy canvas veiling her emotions. "They've been working well. I need somewhere to start for a job this big."

"Yes, of course, of course. Your powers were always a bit unpredictable. Has to do with your mental state when you came in her, probably. Lobes not fully severed. Neuron pathways still independently functioning. Not as open to rewiring, you see. I laughed when I was told I was going to work on someone who hadn't cracked yet. Far too risky, far too risky. I only work on crazies, nowadays." 

He winked and turned away from her to check a small tube over a blue flame. She looked him over critically, trying to decide if he'd changed at all since she saw him last. Tall, with large hands, square fingers and brown hair peppered with grey. His lab coat was neatly pressed, a clean, chemical white. 

He hadn't aged at all in the four years she'd known him. It wasn't surprising, really. He modified himself as much as his patients, and anyone processed kept the same face until they wanted to change it.

"Who is it you're looking for?" He asked, still bent over the burner.

She hesitated, but knew better than to deny him an answer. She almost wished that Smith would come back from whatever she was doing. The Doctor could do a lot worse than break her hands. "Artemis Fowl."

He paused, turning to look at her and with a surprised smiling. "Really? The Fowl child. I remember him. A very special case. One of my favorites."

"Is that so?" Minerva and the Doctor both turned to see Smith leaning heavily against the doorframe, favoring on hip and smiling. Her hair was held up in a bun and she wore a sleek, blue and black leather suit. Her sunglasses were still on.

He laughed and gestured her inside. "Lilia, it's been too long."

She walked to stand next to him, behind a long table covered in straps. She stroked the metal absently with one hand. 

"Not that long, Clark, and you've already forgotten about what we had. I thought I was your favorite?" She affected a pout.

Minerva narrowed her eyes, but the Doctor gave a dry laugh. 

"You are my miracle case. Always will be." He stepped until they were chest to chest, resting one hand on her hip. "Every muscle in your body took to processing. One of the riskiest surgeries I have ever preformed, and look at the results." He inhaled deeply, as though drinking in her presence, then let it out in a sigh. "Stunning."

"Are you trying to tell me that little boy blue let you do more to him than I let you do to me?" She leaned in, almost as though she was going to kiss him, but stopped when their lips were parted by mere centimeters. 

He tilted his head to the side pushed away, lifting a little vile off its flame and pouring a measure of purple liquid inside into a shallow dish. 

"You have nice mods, Lilia, I'll admit that. Chemistry, Alchemy, Blood- I amazed myself with your surgeries. But Fowl is one step passed perfection. He has a Chaos program."

Smith's face didn't change, but the hand she had been resting on the table clenched.

The Doctor glanced at Minerva, a fatherly smile brushing up his features. "I don't suppose you know what that means, do you?"

"Clark," Smith said, voice hardening. He ignored her. 

Minerva looked between them cautiously, deciding where her obedience should lay, and then shook her head. "No. I don't."

"There are several key elements of surgery for all members of AMN. Blood, or body modifications come first. Removing weakness and infirmity, signs of age, distinguishing characteristics. That sort of thing.

"Chemistry programs are next, with robotic and technical attachments." He lifted his hand and waved it, showing the way the metal digits of his fingers glinted. She licked her lips, tasting the ghost of blood lingering there.

"Then come Alchemy, changes in the back second cortex. Magic, extrasensory, all the good stuff."

Smith took a step forward, eyes flashing. "She doesn't need to know what she's dealing with, Clark. It won't make any difference."

Clark glanced at Smith and then away, and Minerva understood that he was only speaking to prove that Smith held no power over him. Just proving that he could favor whoever he wanted.

"Chaos," the Doctor continued, "are the mods that I have no control over. Naturally occurring lesions and ruptures in magical parts of the brain, often caused by close contact to the Folk underground. Oh, I've done a fair deal of research trying to recreate them, but I haven't been able to get a good reaction yet. Just a bunch of broken bodies and ruined brains. Maybe a couple trials traded teeth or hair color, but that's it." He snorted in distaste.

Minerva blinked slowly, bowing her head back down. "What do you mean? What sort of powers does he have?"

The Doctor laughed. "Sorry, Minerva, that I really can't tell you." His gaze traveled to Smith. "Was there something you needed?" 

Smith nodded. "Minerva, actually. You haven't even started the procedure? I'm surprised."

He chuckled. "And I'm surprised that you would leave a pretty young lady here alone with me."

"I forgot. You have a record, don't you? You perverted bastard." Smith smirked, and he shook his head. 

"All behind me now, I'm afraid. I've gone clean as a whistle."

The Doctor turned to Minerva and she stood up when he gestured with one hand. He walked over to a large, round machine in the middle of the room, which unfolded like a flower at a touch from her hand. A plane, plastic bed lay at the bottom. She stepped careful inside and lay down and the metal panels closed again over her head.

A whirring noise started to her left, lights drifted in and out of focus and the beams around her began to spin, slowly at first, but gaining speed.

She could already see coordinates swimming behind her eyes, Artemis's locations narrowing down and down and down as her powers stretched and delved strait into the earth.

0o0o0o0o0

And there you have it! Chapter next down and accounted for. Only a few more and I think… the action starts next chapter. Also finally getting to my non-graphic gore. So you have something to look forward to, ya bunch of sadistic bastards.

That was a joke. I love all of you. Even if I didn't get my childishly demanded 50 reviews. Blah. 


	8. Chapter 8, Quake

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Quake

0o0o0o0o0

"Forgive me my rudeness, but I cannot see the merit of this luncheon as a purely social encounter," Artemis drawled, eyes lingering on Dr. Dippet. He was leaning back in his seat far enough that it tipped precariously, and Root's hands twitched on the table top, half way to steadying him.

Dippet's expression grew a little more pinched. "I haven't yet had the unique pleasure of meeting one of your kind face to face yet, except for Emmet. Tell me, what is it like to belong to a race who caused _their own_ extinction?"

Artemis tilted his head back, a slight smile falling onto his face. "You have no idea," he murmured, meeting the doctor's eyes, and even Dippet looked a little uncomfortable when Emmett's face screwed up and a single tear traced down his round cheek, taken too silently for a boy his age.

"Artemis," Holly scolded, tugging the toddler a little more firmly into her chest. He looked overlarge wrapped in her tiny arms. "Let's keep the pity-party to a dull roar. There are children around, and you promised that-"

"I promised I would let you heal me if you brought back Juliet. Have you done this?"

She flushed with anger. "I have done absolutely everything within my power to help your sorry, self-absorbed teenage wreck get back on the tracks, and that still isn't enough for you. Would you feel better if I'd dragged her mangled, radiation burned corpse-"

Artemis leapt from his chair, eyes flashing a brilliant gray. "Don't you fucking _dare_-"

Holly laughed, the thrill of released tension rushing in her ears, painting her vision in streaks of red. "Or what? You'll be forced to defend you're long-lost lover? Oh, what a lovely testament to a rotting, dead-"

"She wasn't my-!"

"Enough!" Root roared, slamming his fist down on the table. His face was bright scarlet, and his full height unfurled at least a few inches inch above Artemis and foot above Holly, who was still trapped beneath Emmett.

"I'll remind you two _children_ that this conference is not, as Mr. Fowl so kindly pointed out, a social gathering. You are in the presence of a medic, a commander, and a toddler. We are the only people alive who know of AMN and are in a position to deal with them, and we have no idea what timeframe we are working around or what we have to get done within that span.

"Now, do either of you have anything important to say?"

Artemis blinked slowly, face dropping back into apathy. He righted his chair and settled down with a measured calm that was impossible to read. "I do, actually, have a myriad of important things to say. The most relevant of which is that, while I will not allow Holly to heal me-"

"You stubborn little-" Root sent a glare to cut off Holly's tirade, and, for once, she let him.

Artemis continued, apparently ignorant of her words. "I do intend to heal myself. I have conducted a few controlled experiments, and I believe, when I have replenished my stores of magic, I will be more than able to do for myself what must be done."

Holly's eyes widened, and hers' weren't the only ones. Dippet cleared his throat with a rusty noise. "You should hear what I have to say, first."

"Very well," Artemis replied smoothly. "I have several more mentions before I retire, but I'll save it for the end of out discussion in the interest of getting anything useful done today."

Holly's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but when the mud-man fell silent, they zoomed to stare at Dippet. "Well? Let's have it, doctor."

He pulled a folder from under his arm, pausing to give the Holly a quizzical frown when she winced at the sight, and let it fall open across the table. A black and white brain scan written all over in red twisted out of the other papers and landed right in front of Artemis, who stiffened.

"To put this in mildest terms," Dippet said, "what I discovered in our pet mud-man has greatly disturbed me. You can see the highlighted areas in this graph where there are inconsistencies with the average human, and they are quite extensive."

"The back lobes, right? Just over the spine," Holly murmured, hands clenching on the table.

Dippet frowned at her and adjusted himself in his seat.

"Yes, the brain stem has been altered, but so have many other places. Most significantly, the limbic system has been…" he paused, tracing a blot of red in the middle of the scan and appearing thoughtful, "almost completely reinvented. It would be… ridiculous to suggest that a human hand managed to intrude this far into the brain without killing the subject, but there is a small piece of metal fitted above one transmitter that is undeniably a sign that his brain was altered with conscious intention."

He was silent for several more long seconds, and when he continued, he spoke overly loud. It occurred to Holly belatedly that his voice had faded into hardly more than a whisper in the great expanse of the cafeteria, which was dismally silent outside their table.

"And that is why you should not attempt to heal yourself without first being evaluated. I have no idea what will happen to the artificial structures in your brain if you do. Magic is not clever. The tissue in your brain is fully healed, but I don't doubt that if you release a stream of rampant energy through your entire body, you will scramble your own mind and either die or be left a vegetable. Although that could be an improvement," he sniffed. "At least a vegetable would eat less, for all the good you've been doing around here."

Dippet's rant had been delivered like a speech, and he didn't glance at the subject of his address until he was finished.

Artemis was still staring down at the scan in front of him. His eyes were wide, and Foaly noted with concern that his shoulders seemed to be trembling very slightly. One shaking, too pale hand emerged from the boy's lap and lit, birdlike, tentative, across the paper, tracing lines of red and black.

Artemis blinked and recoiled, eyes snapping up to the others at the table. "I don't remember getting this done," he said, like that explained something important.

And for everyone at the table but Dippet, it did.

0o0o0o0

"And of course, it would have been impossible for you to know what was happening to me, if I was blindfolded. I can't imagine why they would have bothered blindfolding me unless they knew you were watching. And if they knew that, then I am clueless as to why they didn't just take the lens out. "

Artemis paused. Foaly shifted on his hooves, aware of the hard, disillusioned stare Dippet was giving him.

"How often did you check on me, when I was in there? Not too often, I suppose. It probably made you feel guilty."

The centaur sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I checked every few months. There were never periods of more than a few days where you were blindfolded."

"A few days would be more than enough for a surgery. Tell me, in the last two years, what would I do when I could see?"

"Just… look off into space, mostly."

The boy frowned. "Did you ever see any other people?"

"No one of interest. Guards. The doctors who saw to you after interrogations."

Foaly winced a little, but Artemis didn't blink. Holly had already left to put Emmet to bed, and Foaly felt horribly unbalanced without her presence. Being with her was awkward, but being alone with Dippet and Artemis was unbearable.

"What did the room where I was kept look like?"

"White, plain. It was just a prison cell, Fowl. I would have noticed any inscription they tried to leave me. The cafeteria was much the same."

"Mm." But Artemis didn't look convinced.

Dippet let out a high-pitched sigh and rubbed two fingers across the bridge of his nose. "What an amazingly complex surgery. If we had that kind of technology down here, we could have ended the war."

"Or started it," Artemis said softly.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Foaly wondered if his own thoughts where being echoed around the room. It made him feel unnerved, transparent. He was used to being a few paces ahead of everyone around him, but lately… he was several significant steps behind.

He wondered is Artemis felt the same. He wondered if the modifications ticking out skewed percentages in the boy's brain hurt. He cleared his throat.

"I have reviewed the information Holly sent to me from Topside, or at least, most of it." He crossed to a file cabinet next to his monitor and pulled out a folder from the top drawer. He handed it off to Artemis, who opened it and began reading immediately. "I believe AMN was working to unlock the parts of humans that can use magic."

Artemis didn't look up at him, but his whole body seized up. "So then… I was… bait?" He asked, quietly, haltingly. "They left the eyepiece in because they wanted to attract faeries, is that it?" He turned a page slowly. It slid out of the folder and folded onto the ground like a wraith. "My brain… They must have known. They must have… wanted you." Foaly winced, and Artemis choked a laugh. "So it really was your fault. You bastard. You complete bastard. I already had the damn magic. I already fucking had it!" He slammed his fist down on the little end table. "None of it had to happen, not a fucking piece of it! None of the scalpels! None of the-" He choked off into a stream of laugher, then spun huge, confused eyes onto Foaly's face. "I don't know why I said that. It's a bloody lie. I don't even remember any scalpels. Of course not. I don't…"

Dippet narrowed his eyes in irritation, seemingly unsurprised by his patient's outburst. "Explain. I understand you two tend to get ahead of yourselves."

Artemis opened his mouth, and to Foaly's astonishment, shut it again without speaking. So he spoke instead. "AMN studied faeries. Their technology would be at least as advanced as ours, maybe more so, to be able to seize that many of our people." And then make the records of those people disappear, he added silently. His thoughts strayed back to what Artemis had said. _Or start one._ "They had to have known that Artemis had an eyepiece in, they had to have known that Artemis had a close connection to us. Maybe even me, specifically. Artemis has had the ability to use magic for quite some time. They didn't need to keep him there to operate on."

"But they did," Holly said softly, standing alone in the doorway.

0o0o0o0o0

She kicked the door shut behind her, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room separately. She didn't like talking if no one was going to listen, even if she wasn't a registered genius. "So the question then becomes, what did they do to him? How do we know he hasn't got some kind of camera in his brain now? Watching everything we do?"

"None of surgeries implanted anything that could read the signals sent back from his eyes. A microphone _maybe_, but it I can't imagine a microphone that far into his head could be sensitive enough to hear our conversation but not pick up."

Holly nodded in reluctant agreement and opened her mouth to say something else, but fell silent, frowning. "Did you…?"

She began, but was cut off again as a huge, invisible force roared through the room. She fell to the ground when the floor jolted beneath her, and was joined an instant later by Dippet, Artemis, Foaly, and most of the room's furniture when the wave, moving at a slightly different speed through air and dirt and rock, wrapped around the walls, making the lamps tremble, drawing a hollow ringing sound from the aluminum reinforcements in the walls. The coffee machine in the corner shook right off the ledge it was balanced on and banged onto the floor. Something glowing and complicated smashed in a shower of sparks, smudging the wall with black burn spots.

The lights flashed out. Holly held her breath, the hands protecting her head twisting into her hair. A few lamps came on again, then a few more. The lights flickered, but held. The rumbling noise was gone, leaving only the humming of the back up power lines shorting, computers unsure of whether to boost or not, in it's wake.

Holly allowed herself five seconds to catch her breath and await another assault before standing up. "Command," she said, glancing imploringly up at the ceiling. "Command, Holly Short requesting status check."

No one answered. She glanced around the room. Artemis and Dippet were slowly picking themselves up. Artemis had a gash across his forehead, but didn't seem to have noticed. Dippet's eyes were wide with shock. Foaly pushed a couch off his hind legs with a groan.

"Do you have an interface in here?" She asked him. He shook his head. Her eyes narrowed. "That's against regulation, Foaly."

He shook his head again. "I know. I just wanted some privacy. I have it on my computer… just let me…"

He stumbled across the room to his suspended monitor, visibly wincing each time his back left hoof touched the ground, and pressed the restart button. There was a moment where nothing happened, then the screen flashed all over green, and a series of matrices in white lettering scrolled past. Foaly entered three separate passwords and the screen cleared, showing a blinking LEP icon in a red circle. Urgent. He clicked it, and the message expanded until it covered the entire wall.

He frowned. "Looks like there's been a… disturbance. Swept across from the east side, a few politicians are already speculating it came from the volcano. About a class 8. There are a few grids totally burnt out near the geothermal access columns, 102 through 137. Looks like there was a flare right around that area. Or at least, that's where the last screening of it was. It… stopped 3 grids from here, fading very suddenly in intensity. "

"Do you get the data feeds from the quest hallways?"

"Yes, I-"

"Check grid 24," Holly snapped, trying to ignore the queasy dread in her stomach. She needed to go back to her room and get her helmet. She needed orders. She needed to be _doing something_. "That's where Emmet is."

Foaly glanced her way. "It doesn't look like anything under grid 50 was impacted."

"Check anyways."

He hesitated, then obliged. A new scrawl of numbers boasted their binary, and Holly waited anxiously for his reply. "Looks good. Go get your helmet. You're on 12? See if you can get Root on the line."

A distant alarm sounded, muffled by distance. "The hospital…" Holly murmured, worried.

He nodded. "Run."

She glanced around, taking in furniture righting itself and Dippet stemming the wound on Artemis's motionless face with a handful of his own shirt. Artemis turned to watch her go with unreadable gray eyes. She backed up until her spine was pressed against the door, and then swung out into the hall.

Which was, predictably, in a state of semi-panic. Bands of medics rushed carts of first aid, harried looking technological support agents poured up from the direction of the access pods, and three little faeries pushed a covered gurney down the hall, shouting for space. The speed and efficiency of the LEP emergency force struck her again, and she took off down the corridor at a sprint, pushing confused, bruised desk workers and civilians out of the way.

"Vice Captain!" Someone shouted, grabbing her arm. She spun around to face a Root, face red from running. Her had his left sleeve rolled up, and an impromptu band-aid made with a balled up shirt was bleeding through quickly. The smell prickled her senses.

"Your arm needs attention, sir," she said. He waved a hand dismissively.

"It's fine. But come on, we need you at HQ."

"I have to check on Emmet," she said firmly. Root was her superior, but that had never kept her from behaving willfully before.

He snorted. "You mean_ this _Emmet?" It was then that she saw a small boy clinging to Root's other hand.

"Mr. Captain said that my safety was compra… comda… at risk," he said. "He said if I didn't go with him it would become considerable more so. What does considerably mean?"

"It means by a noticeable amount. And Root- what's going on? Foaly received notification, but nothing conclusive-"

"That's because we have nothing conclusive." Root pulled out a piece of Nicotine gum and stuffed it into his mouth angrily. "Come on. Quickly."

He turned and tugged Emmet down the hall at a crisp pace. "My helmet," Holly called, following reluctantly against the flow of people. She danced out of the way of a medical cart where a nervous looking intern was holding a dripping needle rather precariously as they tried to tap out a few bubbles. The body on the table beside her was bleeding through the white sheets in heavy splotches.

"Already got it, it's at HQ. Can we walk a little faster, please?"

"Wait, Root!" Holly called. "Can I talk to you before we go? Alone?"

He stopped, swiveled on one foot. "Fine." He pushed open a door next to him and jerked his head. She pushed inside. The room was a residential sweet, and Holly reminded herself that there was no way she could be overheard. The emergency flag on the door was blinking ominously, but it was otherwise silent. The entrance was joined with a small living room, and a faux window showed an ocean stirring in a lazy wind. The door fell shut, and Holly took a deep breath before speaking.

"Captain, I think… I have reason to believe that Commander Foaly is a traitor."

0o0o0o0

Sorry about the wait, and I didn't even bring out the promised angst. I just needed one more chapter of everyone, the next chapter, I believe, will be entirely narrated by Artemis. I guarantee you'll start to see what's really wrong with him, and you'll figure out what the rumble was, and… yay! The next chapter we be much more swift in coming, you have my word. And it'll be longer. And you'll get a flashback, a really, actually flashback! With gore! And dry retching! And plot!


	9. Chapter 9, Granite

**C**h a p t e r **9**

**G** r a n i t e

0o0o0o0

Author's note: Horrible. Just some really terrible torture. Not as bad as it could be, but… much, much more adult than the rest of the story so far. Strong caution advised. I had a draft of lighter, more tasteful stuff, but it just didn't justify the points I am trying to make.

0o0o0o0

…_everything… was spinning… everything…_

0o0o0o0

"I'll see you soon," Minerva had said. "I'm sure this nonsense won't last long. Separating girls and boys lunches, _honestly_. Bloody waste of time, if you ask me. I just know all those married couples will be giving the staff hell. Really, they can't keep us here like a bunch of children and expect to get away with it."

They killed my family, he wanted to say. He didn't say anything.

Her manic haughtiness faded and she reached forward and touched his cheek. "Soon. I promise."

Soon.

Later, when he lay alone on a concrete slab, shivering from loss of blood, every part of his body burning, he would linger on that thought.

Soon.

0o0o0o0

_There was a room. A room where a fairy was patting a cloth to his head, wiping the blood out of his eyes. A room full of blinking lights that slid in and out of focus like the two sides of an old 3-D movie. A room that tilted and swayed, and then there was…_

_Another place._

0o0o0o0

Something was ticking to his left. Soft and indistinct. It might have been counting second to go, or seconds left, or seconds gone. He couldn't think on which one made the most sense. It was almost methodical, almost peaceful. His eyes hurt. His face hurt. Everything hurt. His eyelashes fluttered wetly across his cheekbones.

"Uh-uh-uh, Birdie. Stay awake. We're not done talking to you." A finger pushed his head back, a finger with long, sharp nails, and he met a pair of glittering grey eyes. The face around them formed slowly, hard eyebrows and smooth, female cheeks.

Oh. A guard. Of course. He licked his lips slowly and tasted blood. For the first time in a while, he thought it tasted almost… good. His mouth was rimmed with dried spit.

He wasn't totally sure he'd be able to speak, but he took a few deep breaths and tried anyways. "How… rude of me," he rasped. It was an old habit, mocking people. He didn't have the energy less to train it out of himself, although he realized vaguely that it might be causing him more pain. "And you do make… such delightful… company, too."

His eyes grew unfocused. He couldn't tell how far away the walls were. How long had he been awake? The question disturbed him greatly. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember. The shadows on the walls hissed at him.

"I'm surprised you can still talk. I don't like surprises. Let's remedy this situation." The guard's hand brushed down his bound arm in a touch that he could barely feel, and then landed on his hand.

He looked down, and the sight of his ruined fingers slammed into his sleep deprived brain and the memory tore through in a seizure of déjà vu- _a sharp knife stabbed under his nail with acute, maddening pain, digging slowly into the cartilage of his first knuckle and then wrenching _up_ and _back _until the joint broke, snapped upwards at a 90 degree angle, spraying blood and viscous, yellow something across his hand and the ropes holding him, exposing sharp pieces of things previously buried in skin to the blinding, burning agony of the air, splinters of bone and soft joint sliding under his skin and the salt water that had been on the blade was eating rapidly through nerves…_ 'One finger down, nine to go'… 'Want to start talking, Birdie?' _A flick to the ruined flesh of his hand sent him reeling, the thin of tendons holding on the tip of his finger on fire… G-going to be s-sick_- He turned his head and heaved over the side of the chair as far as he could reach, dribbling strings of spittle and the reek of stomach acid onto his own arm. The back of his nose stung with acid.

0o0o0o0

The hall was quiet except for the scraping of utensils on plastic. There were three rows of long, white plastic tables with attached benches, like the ones Artemis remembered from his elementary school. Every man had an assigned seat, which were periodically vacated for days at a time. Interrogations. Occasionally, someone wouldn't come back. The two seats directly across from Artemis were vacant, which was worrying. Luke was a good man. Artemis had gotten to know him when they had all first arrived. The man who sat next to him- Jin, maybe?- seemed like a decent person as well.

Artemis stared down at his plate. Rice, mashed something, something like eyes mixed with too much milk. He'd eaten almost half of his serving already. He made a point to eat at much as possible, because the food helped to balance out the drugs they gave him and lessoned the hangovers and with drawl as the switched through sedatives, trying to find one that would keep him down. He wished they could just find one already, then maybe they'd leave him alone for a while.

A whistle blasted shrilly from the doors at the back of the room. He started and jerked his shoulder minutely but didn't turn to see what was happening. He listened instead as the guards standing at the back of the room snapped to attention and stepped into two lines. The doors opened with three sharp clicks. Two sets of footsteps, followed by a third and… something else. A shuffling noise. Someone being dragged? The three pairs of feet marched across the room and came into view at the end of Artemis's table where they stopped. Two of the guards held a limp, off-white clad body between them, and a third walked behind them, poking a long gun into the man's back.

Artemis recognized Luke. Luke collapsed as he was dropped into his seat, the entire upper half of his body falling limply onto the table. His shoulders barely stirred with breath. Artemis glanced sideways at Nicky, the boy who sat next to him. Nicky had been handsome when they'd first arrived, but his face had become jaunt and grey, and ugly scars crawled down from his lips like worms pulling themselves from a carcass. He met Artemis's gaze and shook his head minutely. The guards backed away.

There were a few moments of absolute silence, then the slight sounds of scraping forks and spoons began again, uneasy and stunted. Artemis stared across the table at Luke. The man's hand twitched, then curled in a fist. His head was buried on his arms, wild hair completely obscuring his face, so when the first soft, scoffing noise came from his hunched form, Artemis wasn't sure what it was. A second one came, long and drawl and, and Nicky look up from his food. Was that… laugher?

As the sound got louder it became apparent that it _was _laugher, deep, throat rumbling, shoulder hunched laugher that was growing louder every second. Desperate. _Hysterical_. Artemis dropped his spoon. People were turned to look, to see what was happening.

Luke's head came up slowly, and Artemis saw that his face was twisted into a maniacal grin, so tense and deeply carved into his face that it couldn't possibly be called a smile. His glassed hung off his ear and nose crookedly, cutting a line over his mouth. They fell to the table with a clatter. He didn't notice.

Luke was a big man. In the back of Artemis's mind, he realized that he should be afraid. He glanced towards the guards. They weren't moving.

Luke threw his head back and shrieked. The column of his throat trembled with the force of it, tears streamed down his face. His whole body shook. "You killed him!" He managed. His voice was harsh, dry. "You killed him, you fuckers. Well you're not going to get me!" And then, with a bestial scream- which emerged strangled between his continued laugher- he leap up from the bench, holding a fork in each hand like they could become weapons.

Artemis expected him to run at the guards, but he didn't. Instead, her raised both utensils and Artemis realized what he was going to do in a split second- the only way to kill someone with a blunt, plastic instrument barely six inches long- a stab through the eye. Luke wasn't the first to try to kill himself, but he was the first to be so obvious about it- attempts at suicide always ended badly. There was blood, but not death. Never death.

A sharp report blasted through the room. Sparks flung up from the concrete as the bullet buried itself in the floor.

"That was a warning shot," the guard who had fired said.

"Go ahead! I know you won't miss a second time," Luke cackled.

Artemis was frozen, but beside him, Nicky jumped to his feat.

"Stop it!" He yelled. "Don't shoot-"

_Bang!_ Nicky stopped talking. His body swayed for a moment, and one of his hands shot out to grip the edge of the table with white knuckled fingers. He half turned, like he was considering sitting back down, and his gaze met Artemis's.

He opened his mouth, closed it without speaking, then tried again. "Uhn," he gurgled. Blood spilled down from his lip in a solid film that covered his chin and dripped in ropes down onto his shirt. He coughed- more splattered the table. Artemis saw that there was a small, round hole in his shirt. It wasn't even bleeding. The bullet must have pierced right over a big vein of scar tissue.

_Bang! Bang!_ Two more shots, and Nicky's head cracked open like an egg. Grey slime splattered across the table, across Artemis's clothes, across his skin, then Nicky tilted- so slowly, almost gracefully- and fell into Artemis's lap. Artemis made a faint, horrified noise. Nicky's left eye was busted- there was liquid, goop, fluid everywhere- messy- oily- hot like he hadn't imagined it would be- rapidly soaking into his pants and shirt. He tried to push Nicky off his legs in a spastic movement, be was too small, too weak- he couldn't do it.

Another shot. Luke screamed, dropped the forks and fell to his knees, clutching the bleeding wound on his leg.

"No," he cried. "No! Shoot me in the head, you fuckers! Just… just kill me already! Fuck you. Fuck all of you people!" He lifted his and began scratching his face viciously, tearing at his eyes and mouth. "Off! Get off! The- the things- they'll get you too, you know! Now that you've let them out. You can't escape! Not now!"

Two guards hurried forward and took hold of his arms. He kicked and shrieked, but to no avail. He was dragged from the hall. The doors banged shut behind him.

Artemis finally managed to wriggle out from underneath Nicky's body, the effort quickening his breath until it was erratic. The body slid to the floor with a solid sound. His hands were shaking.

The hum of that gunshot rang in his head, refusing to be driven out by the silence in the room.

That night was the first night he didn't sleep.

0o0o0o0

"He squeals like a pig, Smith. Listen to him squeal! There are worse placed we could stick this, you know, Birdie. And- oh, that's got to hurt! Oink, oink."

0o0o0o0

"_Artemis," Someone said. The other place. The other place again. A fairy. A doctor. A man with a name: Dippet. The taste of blood was still in his mouth, fainter here and now, but still there. _

"_Snap out of it!"The man said. "Artemis, come on…"_

0o0o0o0

He was gorging himself and he knew it. It was disgraceful, degrading, but by god it had been- how long since he'd eaten? Over a week, he thought. Over two weeks, probably. Three weeks? Could it have been three? He had no idea. More than one, though. Of that he was sure. He used to know how long someone of his body weight and metabolism could survive without food, but he'd forgotten. Besides, the time would be altered, shortened with all the extra energy he'd expended from… from…

His hands were bandaged heavily, taped to hard, wooden boards, and he had to eat like a dog by lifting the bowl of food uneasily to his mouth. The meat was raw and slippery. Ground up. Slimy. It slid down his throat with difficulty- he couldn't taste a thing on his dry tongue, but the gush of thick blood was familiar in his mouth, making each painfully spitless swallow nauseating. They'd been giving him water occasionally, but not much, definitely not enough with all the blood he'd lost.

The blindfold was off, finally, and tears ran streaks down his face from the suddenly blinding light. A wave of paranoia made him glance up.

The room was plain, three stained white walls, a fourth wall made up of mirrors, with concrete floors that sloped to a drain in the middle and a chair covered in straps right behind him- the chair he'd been tied to until they had let him go a few minutes earlier and he had slipped bonelessly to the floor. A singular light bulb hung from the ceiling on a long chain, perfectly still in the motionless air of the room. There was a metal door in front of him, and four guards stood in a line across it. They were all watching him eat.

"Enjoying your meal?" One of them asked. She was only an inch or two taller than him, but her narrow shoulders looked powerful beneath the tight cloth of her uniform.

Artemis stopped chewing. There was something hard in that last bite. He opened his mouth, realized he couldn't fit his fingers inside, and spat everything onto the ground. The spit around his mouth was red and foamy, and meat landed on the ground with a splat. It took him a movement to see what he had felt, but when he did he almost wished, for just a split second, that he hadn't.

Sitting in the middle of the pile of runny, half-chewed mush was something greasy white, hard, streaked with oily blood but distinctively pearly.

He fumbled for a moment to pick it up, weary of a trick, and it took him a moment to slide it onto a clean bit of cement and lean in to examine it.

A tooth. A human tooth. Chipped a little on one edge, well kept, extracted within the last 4 to 8 judging from the condition of the nerve at the bottom, depending on the how it was kept in after removal. Distinctive curve at bottom, adult, likely female from size, second year molar. His brain provided a stream of useless information. Just a load of numbers. He'd been proud of his reasoning abilities on the outside, but here, here on the inside, they were…

Oh god. A human tooth.

He looked up, face frozen in horror. The door opened and the guards stepped aside to allow someone to be pushed through from the dark space behind.

It was a woman somewhere in her early twenties with long blonde hair, wearing a white paper dress. Perfectly square portions of the dress had been cut open, revealing prisms of missing flesh beneath, like someone had pressed a huge, razor-sharp cookie-cutter all over her body. Two through her stomach. One through her hand. Like a jigsaw puzzle. Down from her nose and stretching to her chin, then left almost to her ear, half her face was missing. Her body fell to the ground in front of him. Blood spilled out of her mouth and from her exposed nasal cavities, running quickly across the floor, around his knees and to the drain next to him. It was cold. She's been dead quite a while. On her left hand, he could see a wedding band.

And suddenly, he… he…

Couldn't… feel anything… anymore… couldn't… what… please, oh god, stop stop _stop!_

Someone was laughing- "Oh man, I wish I had a camera! The new guy's a freakin' genius-" he wasn't listening.

The whole world shifted- shifted- and…. -_Crack-!_

0o0o0o0

Darkness.

0o0o0o0

_Light. _

_The last thing he felt before consciousness left him was a slight, secretive smile crawling over his face._

"_Sleep now, Artemis. I'll take it from here."_


	10. Chapter 10, The Worm

AN: So between gratuitous amounts of finals and moaning about my personal life, I managed to type up chapter 10, codename: that other really long chapter where stuff happens that isn't properly explained. What can I say? I'm sort of going for a mystery type feel.

**C** h a p t e r **1** 0

**T **h e **W** o r m

0o0o0o0

Holly winced as Root's expression slipped from surprised to sternly disinterested.

"Short, I realize that your judgment has been severely impacted by emotional strain in the past, but I thought you'd-"

She held her hands up, desperate to make him listen. "No! No, this isn't about Artemis. Well, not entirely. Look, when I went to the surface last night, I took a pod up. A volcanic monitor pod. Those are top priority, no one can requisition one away from the east tunnels, civilian or military, unless they get clearance from a general. The Head Secretary of Topside gave me access. He would never give a top priority craft to a Vice Captain just because of a few snarky comments. Foaly is the only general around who could lower the priority. If he got in and distracted the monitor pods, then…"

"You're blaming him for the surge. What do you think he was trying to do, then?"

"I don't know, except that a surge like that… well, that was a lot of energy, electric energy, that can't have just came from nowhere. Maybe he's been working on some sort of project… something… topside."

Root stared at her. "You think he's working for AMN?"

"No," she said. "But think about it for a second. He's capable of causing the surge, isn't he? That was huge, probably electrical- you saw the way it just dropped off suddenly- and Foaly works on the grid. He has access to the main generators right by the volcano. He could have sent them from there."

"For what purpose?

She rolled her eyes. "What is it that all of us want, Root? More than anything? Enough to kill 6 billion people, if you were crazy and powerful enough?"

He stared, and she could see the trail of a sickened thought working its way to the forefront of his mind. "The surface. He's always wanted to go back up."

"The Volcano… I think he wants to blow the roof off this place, force us all back to the surface without having to go through the government. They'll be no choice but to evacuate."

"Then how does AMN tie into all this?"

"AMN… may be ruthless, but they're not a real problem. Think about it, Root. They're just a bunch of mud-men. They don't have the capability to be more than a passing threat. Foaly's a genius."

"So is Fowl. So were the other captives of AMN. I think you're underestimating them."

"They're not like Foaly."

"Holly… I'm still not sure."

She snarled, suddenly angry. "If you don't want to believe it, that's fine, but I know Foaly's never done anything out of the goodness of his heart, Root. Artemis hasn't exactly been a huge help, seeing as his entire brain has been hacked. Why would he bring back Artemis now, if not to distract us?"

Root fixed her with strangely empathetic eyes and spoke very softly. "I would have thought that would be obvious."

"What do you-"

He shook his head. "Keep watching him, Holly. There isn't enough evidence for a conviction yet. Or at least, not for anybody other than the unfortunate Topside Secretary and the fool gave who Foaly clearance to take his rooms off the cameras. Tell me if you find anything else and I will personally speak to Parliament about trying to ostracize him."

"But-"

"Enough for now. If you want to talk about it later, then we will. I'll keep an eye on the volcano monitors to see if the ceiling starts to shake, but don't think I'll be the only one. Everyone's on high alert right now. If Foaly tries anything, we'll catch him. For now, come with me to HQ, and don't say anything about this when we get there. I'll do the talking. That's an order." He glanced down at his wrist. "Come on, let's hurry. The alarm system hasn't turned off yet, there could be something else coming."

She hesitated, shaking with anger, then nodded slowly. They walked out of the room. Emmet followed, silent eyes drinking in the chaos around him with a sharp detachment that would have disturbed her if Holly had looked down to see him.

0o0o0

Dippet let out a frustrated sigh as the rag he was holding gradually became completely saturated with blood. The boy's blood wasn't clotting properly. They'd been pumping him full of vitamin K, but they'd also given him a blood thinner, and it was working against him. Foaly's ears flicked back against his scalp at the smell in a way that seemed almost obscenely equestrian, although he could have been responding to seeing his office in disarray. It was hard to imagine the place being tidy, but then, it had been a hard week.

"Do you have any gauze?" Dippet asked, scowling. The boy blinked and swayed on his feat. His lips were moving very slightly, like he wasn't quite conscious. Dippet put a steadying hand under his elbow. "Fowl's going to bleed out in an hour. I need med spray."

"Don't have any," Foaly muttered tensely. He was switching his gaze rapidly between different computer monitors, clicking through screens faster than seemed reasonable. "Unless you want to go down to the clinic, you'll just have to make do with paper towels."

Dippet heaved a frustrated sigh, clenching his free hand. He wasn't about to admit that the Fowl boy was scaring him. Fowl's eyes were half closed and fluttering, glazed. He licked his lips slowly, and then shook his head.

"Mn," he said.

Dippet blinked. "Pardon?"

Fowl shook his head again, first to the left, then to the right, then flexed his hands and finally focused on Dippet's face as though seeing him for the first time.

His mouth worked faintly, and he barely managed a raspy, "Sorry." His voice was impossibly hoarse, the word sounded squashed, too light on the vowel and heavy on the consonant, not at all like his usual perfect diction. His pupils dilated and then rapidly sunk into pinpricks.

Dippet held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?" He asked.

Foaly glanced over his shoulder to see if Fowl would answer.

"Three," Fowl replied, then put a hand to his own head, overtop of Dippet's. He didn't flinch when a rivulet of blood ran from the sodden bandages and down his arm. "I can hold it," he said.

Dippet nodded and began to search the drawers beside Foaly's desk. Each one was overflowing with junk, gyroscopes and bottles and CDs and microchips and broken computer bits.

Foaly frowned. "I already told you I don't have med spray," he said.

"I'm not looking for med spray."

"What are you looking for, then?"

"Anything usefully. I couldn't pray for a sharp enough needle for sutures, but do you have glue? Masking tape? Ah, scissors. Pass me Fowl's jacket, I'm going to cut it into strips."

"I have scissors?" Foaly looked mildly surprised.

Dippet waved them back and forth, making a face. "This place is a mess. You should really clean it up sometime."

Foaly stared at him for a second, then laughed. "You can't tell me you've had enough time to organize since Fowl came down."

Dippet didn't smile. "I prioritize. Cleanliness is next to godliness."

Fowl spoke from across the room and they both started. "You're religious?" He asked.

Dippet shrugged, keeping his eyes on the boy carefully. He wasn't swaying or showing signs of dizziness anymore and his eyes were rapidly becoming more and more alert, although there was a concerning twitch on the left side of his jaw that fluttered beneath the skin like a trapped moth.

Dippet got the sudden mental image of Fowl biting into a bird's delicate neck and shaking like a cat until the thing went still. A shiver traveled down his spine before Dippet sneered at himself and brushed the arrant thought away.

"I suppose," Dippet replied, reminding himself that he had been asked a question, "I border on agnostic."

"Human philosophy," the kid murmured. "Are you familiar with Catholicism?"

"Yes." A woman he had treated somewhere in central Europe had explained most of it to him one night a year and a half ago. He'd been trying to convince her to drink some alcohol while undergoing surgery to dull the pain, but she'd refused, saying that she'd promised her priest she'd never to drink again after she crashed a car that resulted in the death of a child. In the hours of screaming that followed her refusal, he'd distracted her by asking about her faith. She had died clutching her rosary, delirious with pain, trying to explain with only her hands a loyalty so beyond bone depth that he couldn't understand it at all.

Fowl looked away; blank faced, and then looked back. "I want to see a priest."

"What?" Foaly looked confused. "Since when have you believed in God?"

While Dippet watched, the corner of Artemis's mouth twitched up into a chilling smile. "I've always believed. I'm an Irish, don't you know? Both of my parents were catholic, as well, and so were the Butlers."

"Why do you need to see a priest, then?"

"I want to make a confession."

Foaly blinked at Dippet hopelessly. Dippet gave him a shrewd glare. _You're on your own for this one._

"Where would we find you a practicing catholic priest?" Foaly asked. "There are, well-"

Dippet snorted. "You do realize almost everyone on earth is dead, don't you?"

Fowl shrugged. "Fine. Then… then at least let me visit a church and kneel before Mary."

"You mean Topside?" Dippet sneered. "It'll be a pain getting you up there, you know. Outside of us, almost nobody knows you're down here." Dippet surprised himself as the word "us" passed his lips. It was a new kind of us, located somewhere outside of his medic brigade, an us that included Holly, Root, Foaly, Fowl, and that little boy Emmet.

"There's a church almost right above where we are now. It's abandoned, but still intact. No bombs landed near there. It's very old. There's a big grove of trees behind it, that's where we harvest standard requisition acorns."

"I want to go," Fowl said.

Foaly shrugged. "We'll see. If the surge doesn't amount to anything, then we might be able to find a free pod by… a week from tomorrow?"

"You're a general," Fowl pressed. "And a genius. If you wanted to, you could do it." His face didn't change, but his eyes glinted with something Dippet thought looked a lot like desperation. He almost told Foaly to fuck precaution and take the boy to the surface, then blinked in befuddlement at his own behavior and scorned the base insinuation. The brat couldn't really have become religious just because of a bump on the head. Then again, he had a least a dozen screws shaking loose up there, literally and figuratively. If the stories about him were true, there probably had been before somebody had taken a hack saw to his cranium. Who knew what went on in his head?

Foaly's face was pained. Dippet frowned at them both.

"Don't behave like a spoiled brat, Fowl. How old are you? Fifteen? Fourteen?"

Fowl didn't reply to correct him. Dippet's frown deepened. He was eighteen. That was one of the first questions Dippet had asked when he started working on the case.

"And Foaly, I believe you're being a bit drawl about all of this. What's the status?"

"I told you everything that's been sent to me."

"Why not go to the recon conference and see if you can find anything out?"

"Can't," he muttered. "Can't even listen in. The alarm is still sounding, for some reason, so the circuit of surveillance cameras inside HQ is closed off. I can't hack it. I'm supposed to stay here and await orders. Nobody who isn't recon is allowed into this kind of meeting without an invitation."

"Has anyone been invited?"

Foaly walked over to his computers, pausing to flip an end table upright and kick of few broken pieces of plastic out of the way, then began flicking through screens tabs with the sort of speed and dexterity that Dippet wished he could match in anything at all.

"Invitations have been sent to three specialists from the eastern volcano watch, Carmen Trench, Markus Flint, and Thomas Moore, and a mechanical specialist Named Elizabeth Bloom."

"Elizabeth?" Dippet said, then kicked himself.

Foaly glanced back. "You… know her?" The implication of those words was clear.

Dippet snorted. Not like that, but his sister Mary had, apparently. He had wanted to, though. He wasn't a sexist man, nor was he usually easily distracted by women, but he was a male with functioning hormonal impulses and, well… breasts.

"She's a very successful woman," he said concisely. "I believe she and Holly Short have a lot in common." Just not around the bust line.

"Hm. She must be good at what she does, then."

"Very."

Foaly smiled. "You know, if I said I couldn't hack to the cameras into the meeting, I was lying." He turned around and then widened his eyes. "Where's Artemis?"

Dippet and he both turned to the door in time to watch it fall shut.

"Er… should we stop him?" Foaly asked.

Dippet shrugged. "He's an adult. Let him do what he wants."

0o0o0o0o0

Root, Emmet and Holly made it to the door of the conference room, Root cursing there lateness under his breath and Holly panting harshly with suppressed anger when Artemis Fowl stepped out of the shadows of an access Holloway lit only with the glow of emergency lighting. Half his body glowed red, while the other half was almost completely wrapped in shadows.

"Artemis," Holly said, surprised. "What are you doing here? Did something happen?" She paused, examining the harsh wound slicing across his forehead and the thick smear of blood that ran down his brow and into his eye, matting the lashes together.

Root was staring to. "You need medical attention."

"I know," Artemis said softly. "I've been looking for the medical ward, but I got lost, and I didn't want to be seen by anyone unauthorized."

"Medical ward?"

He gestured to his head.

"Why didn't Dr. Dippet or Foaly help you?"

Artemis shook his head. "They were trying to clean up the room, I guess."

Holly watched Artemis's face keenly; worry beginning to blossom in her stomach. Something about his expression wasn't quite right. Something she couldn't place.

"How much blood have you lost?" She asked.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I feel dizzy."

"The medical ward is about three blocks down that way," she said, pointing the way she and Root had come. "The door is on the left. It's labeled. No one should see you; this whole area is sealed up."

"Thanks," he said.

He walked between her and Root soundlessly, then stopped beside Emmet and knelt down. He wrapped his arms around Emmet, and Holly couldn't quite see, but she thought she saw him kiss Emmet's cheek and whisper something. Emmet nodded slightly.

Then he stood up abruptly and walked away from them without glancing back. Holly watched him go with a worried expression.

"Hey," she whispered when he turned around the hallway and out of sight. "Did you think-?"

"We'll talk about it later," Root muttered, not shifting his gaze from strait in front of them.

"So you noticed it too?"

"Quiet. We're going in." He took a deep breath and gave her a slight, reassuring smile. Or maybe he was just practicing looking normal for when they got inside.

She stole herself and pushed the door open, bowing slightly so that he could walk in first.

Inside, the noise was unbearable.

The room was large, full of blinking lights and suspended computers like a stock exchange, except instead of observers watching from boxes above, three officers sat in large chair while their assistants shouted for silence of the mass of yelling, panicking agents. Everywhere there was chaos: machines spitting out long tracks of data and faxes shooting across the floor, tripping small faeries running beneath the cacophony of flailing limbs and gesticulations. Rows of phones were being attended by far too few operators, each one holding two or three ear pieces against their neck with one hand while the other signaled to a row of typists taking notes. A little hob argued violently with three wiry gnomes, and a centaur with long blue hair in braids was trying vainly to wrestle a handful of papers from a jammed copier while a tall elf with a clearly broken arm waved his good hand frantically, trying to hurry him up. The center of the commotion, however, seemed to revolve around a set of blinking red machines in the center of the room: the alarm system.

Root made a 'follow me' gesture and began to tow Emmet through the crowd. Holly smiled faintly as the little boy screwed up his face and put his hand to his ear, leaning up against Root to cover the other one. No one really took any notice of him, dressed in Fairy clothes with his long hair covering his ears.

A pixie woman in Mec-division uniform was up on a ladder, fiddling with the dials and cords connecting the machines. She was wearing her hair up in an interesting rigging of pigtails rapped with braids, long and black, and they shivered around her while she worked. Sweet was all over her forehead. She reached down and said something Holly couldn't discern, and someone passed up a wrench.

"Who's that?" Holly asked.

Root glanced down at her. "You really haven't been keeping up around here. She's Elizabeth Bloom, a mechanic. She started after the war. Received a few rapid fire promotions when a big part of her unit got killed off and no one else would join up."

Holly felt the slightest swell of pride. Getting more women into the force had always been a motivation for her. Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with the alarm system?"

"We're going to find out. Now hush."

She opened her mouth to tell him not to shush her, but someone slammed into her back, jostling her a few steps to the left, and she realized it was a stupid point to argue amid so much pandemonium.

"Excuse me," she heard Root saying in front of her. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Colonel Sands snorted, scowling up at the machines like they had personally affronted him. His curved horns narrowly avoided scalping an anxious looking attendant standing behind him as he swung to face Root full in the face. "Where have you been, Julian? And who is this?"

"This is Holly Short," Root said. Holly noticed that he didn't use her title, and looked at the colonel with new dislike in her eyes. She knew the type, old military men who couldn't look her in the face when they knew she wasn't just an orderly or a secretary. She wanted to correct him, but she knew Root would only neglect her title if he thought it would help him wheedle for information. Silence wasn't exactly her forte, but it would have to work until she could escape the meeting. If Emmet could hold his tongue, then so could she. "We've been on a personal but urgent errand," Root continued.

The colonel raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes. We were looking for my sister-in-law's wayward niece." He lifted the hand linked with Emmet's very slightly. The colonel looked for a moment like he was trying to remember if Root was actually married. Holly held her breath, but the moment passed and he didn't ask anymore question. Sands was a good colonel, admittedly. He knew when to look the other way and when to investigate.

"What seems to be the hold up with the alarm?" Root said.

Sands shrugged. "Apparently we're waiting for Bloom to tell us." He snorted.

"Apart from the alarm, why hasn't the meeting been formalized yet? Shouldn't the generals be establishing some order in here?"

"They've been trying, but no one seems to want to leave these damn machines alone. There are people already gathered outside HQ. They don't care about the surge; they just want to know why city lines are down. We need somebody to turn on the sprinkler system; see if that'll get rid of them for a while. Someone's watching the cameras. Apparently it's reaching violence."

"Can't be worse out there than it is in here."

"Sir!" They all looked up as the woman- Bloom- shouted at them from the top of the machine. "It's not going to work. The machines are fine, it's the program that's been addled."

"Can you fix it?" The colonel shouted back.

"It would take days."

"What?" He snarled.

She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head. "Extra numbers have been added to the binary- not viral, but... possibly some kind of… but no, there would have to be a physical trigger…" she trailed off, puzzling with herself, occasionally spitting out a few words like "binary digester," or "shuffle converter," "matrix-type CQO" while scratching the back of her head. A wrench she was holding in her hand drooped faintly, then dropped right out of her hand and clunked a man hard on the head. Elizabeth gasped and covered her mouth as he tipped backwards, unconscious. The group of onlookers shuffled out of the way without breaking from clambering for information, and a little pixie grabbed him under the shoulders and heaved him over to the side of the room, before he was trampled.

"Uh…" Bloom seemed like accidentally knocking a man unconscious had disturbed her far more than the crowd. Her cheeks heated with a blush, and Holly noticed that she had dark blue eyes. "I can turn the machine off, if you want."

"Off?"

"Yeah. Just to let the civilians go back to normal. Restarting the machine might actually fix the error… I'm not sure, but…"

"Alright, go ahead."

"There's just one thing. Once we restart the machine, it will take days to be in working order again. Plus, I can't just restart the alarm. I have to restart all three of these babies. That'll affect communications."

"But civilian lines will be open?"

"Yes. Unless…. Yes."

"It's settled then. If there's a real emergency, we'll just use those. Now do it so we can sit down."

Scratched a few strands of sweaty hair behind her ears, picked up a new wrench and went to work unscrewing a series of fat bolts. She stuck each one in her mouth after working it free, and Holly was reminded of a farmer she'd met once, in her early days in the force, when she'd gone on a mission to retrieve a loose troll. She had a feeling Elizabeth would be almost as formidable when brandishing a pitchfork.

The middle machine beeped three times shrilly, and then went dead. The other two machines followed quickly after. The room broke out in cheering. Root grabbed Holly's hand and towed her through the crowd to a seat hidden in a shadowy corner before the Generals could finally establish order. Emmet didn't have a seat, so he huddled on the floor at the end of the row. Holly held his hand, which was slightly damp from Root's sweat.

Eventually everyone sat down, pulling down a bunch of extra chairs in a closet at the back to make extra room, and Generals Hero started to speak.

"Reports, starting with Homeland, alphabetically, then North, East, and sub-subterranean, Topside, independent interfaccions. Later, we can group similar issues together and enforce alert Parliament. Begin."

Holly closed her eyes and settled into the monotony. Power surges. Broken machinery. Problems in the medical division. Crowd control. Public health risks from broken sewage pipes- ugh, there something to avoid getting tangled up in…

Holly wasn't made for meetings. She was made for explosions and running and flying and quick thinking. Not sitting and listening to men in silly suits give rapid fire reports on drainage pipes.

"We have a budget on crowd suppression, but I'm sure we could lift it," General Flores was saying. He paused to scan down his list for the next speaker.

A the silence was rent by a scream so shrill and ethereal that for a moment Holly couldn't tell where it was coming from, a moment where she only knew that every feminine instinct in her body leapt into action at the sound of the shear, childish anguish it encompassed. Holly jumped about a foot in the air and whipped around to look at Emmet. He had both his hands over his ears, eyes screwed up, and he was bawling. His face was entirely red and it just went on and on.

Holly scanned his body for injuries and dropped her knees in front of him, looking for blood or spasms. "Emmet, honey, tell me what's wrong," she said desperately.

She bit her lip for a moment, uncertain, then put and hand over his mouth and a pulled one of his hands from his ear and repeated the question so he could hear it. He bit her. She pulled back sharply, his mouth and her fingers both dabbed with blood. His eyes snapped open at the taste, glossy and red with tears, and she forgave him instantly.

The next scream strangled itself into a word: "Home!" Emmet cried, gripping his hair and pulling, shaking his head so that tears flung off and hit Holly's face. "I want to go home, take me back, take me back-"

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into hug, trying to calm him down, and was aware abruptly of how many recon officers had turned around in their seats to stare at them. "Sh," she murmured, rubbing his back. He tilted his head into her shirt, sobbing. Tears and snot and drool began to drip down the near-vinyl synthetic of her uniform and onto the floor.

"Common," someone over her said. Holly looked up to see Elizabeth standing there, Root expressionless behind her. "Let's go out the back," she said.

Holly nodded and picked Emmet up under the shoulders, keeping him shielded from the other officers with her body. Elizabeth led them behind the typists' desks and opened a set of doors with key ring, then closed them quietly behind them.

"Are you going back in?" She asked Root. He shook his head, and she locked the

"Thanks," Holly said loudly, over Emmet's continued noise.

"What happened?" Root asked. He glanced sideways at Elizabeth, who was watching them curiously, then back at Holly.

"I don't know," Holly said. "He just started crying."

"Maybe you should take him home," Elizabeth said. "He's probably really scared."

Holly and Root shared another glance.

"His home is… a bit of a mess right now," Holly said. "Pretty much destroyed, actually. Completely destroyed."

"Oh, I'm sorry. So… are they going to be able to move back?

"He and his mother will not be able to move back, no. It was… an old house."

"I'm sorry. You should take him to see it anyways," Elizabeth said. "Just so he can get some closure. The sooner the better. It'll be bad for his psyche if things just change suddenly and without reason. It can lead to abandonment issues, even if no person actually leaves him."

"Oh." Holly bit her lip. Of course, Elizabeth had no idea about Emmet's actual circumstances, but if what she was saying was true, then… "Captain," she said. "Maybe we should bring him back to his mom, see if she can calm him down."

Root looked at her snorted. "Fine. You take him. I'm going back to the meeting."

"No," she said quickly. "We'll get a recording later. I don't know where she is. You said she was with her friend, I don't know…" The lies came easily and Root was beginning to look furious.

"Fine," he growled. "Fine. Good day, Miss Bloom."

Elizabeth nodded slightly. "And good day to you as well." Her eyes slid to Emmet, trailing over the round, human fullness of his face.

Her curious gaze followed them down the hall.

Root tossed one look over his shoulder at her, then snorted and muttered so low that Holly could barely hear him and realized that Emmet's screaming had died into wet, broken sobs, "Everything's fine. Keep walking."

When they passed the door to the hospital, Holly tugged Root's sleeve. "In here," she murmured, and they dodged out of the empty hallway into an empty hospital room.

Holly frowned, glancing around- little beds, little scales, big beds, big scales- they were in a maternity ward. She's never seen it so… empty. Had everyone moved out, or…?

No. She'd heard something about this. Birthrates had dropped off considerably since the war started, dwindling from record highs to record lows in a matter of a handful of years.

She swallowed and tiptoed through to the far side of the room. Even Emmet fell silent under the immense significance this room held.

Root fished in his pocket for a stick of gum, then pulled the door at the far end of the room open a crack and seemingly drew an orderly right out of thin air.

"Ca-captain!" The medic stammered. "And Vice Captain Short."

"Hm," Holly acknowledge his presence, unsure of Root's intentions when he superior officer remained silent, just looking the medic up and down.

"Have you seen a human boy here?" Root asked finally.

The medic glanced down at little Emmet, up to Holly, then to Root, and then repeated the circle a few more times. "Yes. I suppose you're involved with his case?"

"Very much so," said Root.

"Follow me," said the boy. They walked down a back hallway stocked with shelves and shelves of labeled, plastic containers and a big heater filled with bags of fluid. They passed through a door into another hallway and then yet another door into a small procedure room. Artemis was lying on a hospital bed with a full tray of food across his lap, gorging himself.

Holly stared.

There was really no better way to describe what he was doing. Dozens of foods were laid out before him: thick custard in a glass, chocolate cake, oregano salad, beats with milky white cheese, thick slices of grilled pears, bread soaked in butter, baked potato and cabbage over chicken and fried fish and sundried eggplant and other things, prepared mud-men style and filling the room with the rich smell of a banquet. Artemis glanced up when Holly, Root and the medic entered the room, then returned to the tray, eating quickly and efficiently, cleaning the plates starting at one corner and roving across to the other. It was like watching a machine. His delicate frame shook very slightly, dwarfed behind his meal.

"Artemis," Holly said with a bemused half smile. She hadn't seen him eat more than a few bites since he came underground. He had formerly refused to eat any meat at all. She couldn't think of anything to say, wasn't honestly sure if she should be congratulating him or asking if it was healthy for him to be eating that much. Eventually she just said, "Wow."

Artemis's eyes didn't move from the plate. "Hungry," he mumbled. "Lost a lot of blood."

Root glanced at the medic, who jerked his head noncommittally.

"You can leave now," Root told him. The medic bowed and left.

"What's wrong with Emmet?" Artemis asked, scowling around a mouthful of teriyaki and walnuts.

Holly glanced down at Emmet and waved a hand hopelessly. "I don't know, he just started crying."

"I want to go home…" Emmet sobbed. A bubble of snot blew at the end of his nose and popped. He looked exhausted, which was concerning. Weren't toddlers supposed to cry themselves out pretty quickly? Holly grabbed a handful of tissues off an end table and started to mop at his face.

Artemis tilted his head to the side. "Poor kid," he said. "Parents dead, taken away from everything he loves. I know what that feel like."

Holly jerked slightly in shock, then bit her lip, keeping her head down. "Artemis…" she mumbled.

Root looked between the three of them and threw his hands up in exasperation. "Oh excellent," he said. "We'll just fly right up to the surface for a little visit, shall we? You must know that that will be impossible at the moment."

"General Foaly could do it," Artemis said. Holly looked at him and he met her eyes steadily. Did he know? Could he…?

Holly shook her head.

"He can't lift a pod off the track for you," Root said. "It's out of the question.

"Home…" Emmet wailed piteously.

Artemis met Holly's eyes with an expression that became, for a brief, flickering moment, uncharacteristically soft.

"Emmet really likes you," Artemis said. "A parent would do almost anything for their child." His voice was barely more than a whisper, and even with Root in the room, it was clear the words were only for her. "You'd like him to be yours, wouldn't you?"

Holly's hands clenched. She thought about things she hadn't bothered thinking about in a long time, marriage, a nice house, children, a pretty lawn with big flowers... things she didn't have when she grew up.

"Give me a few hours," she said. "I can take care of Foaly."

0o0o0o0o0

AN: So yeah, if I wasn't pushing this story in a totally unromantic direction, Holly Short and Elizabeth would totally be lesbians and dig each other. Oh, and Artemis would find love, too, in the arms of some well muscled mafia man who has a way with words and cigarettes and guns and will push his skinny hips against a wall and kiss him stupid, and Foaly would find that centaur lady again and do it however centaurs do, and Dippet would fall in love with a little human lady with a big burn disfiguring her stomach and making her infertile, and Smith and Grey would have weird femme-dom villain sex and… um… yeah. Minerva would…er… get raped a lot? Maybe she and Nicky… a bit of a stretch, but… Then they would all get married in the most bueno wedding ever. But for everyone who doesn't like romance or gay stuff or whatever, don't worry a bit: there won't be any. Holly and Artemis couldn't get any more asexual if they tried.

IMPORTANT NOTE:

On the government: It's not really important, but they have a primarily parliamentary government slapped onto a military state. The ranks of the army go Fuehrer (elected primarily by General with some input by Parliament, like the President or PM or whatever), General, Lieutenant General, Major General, Brigadier General, Colonel, Lieutenant Colonel, Captain, Vice Captain, Major, First Lieutenant, Second Lieutenant, a whole crap load of secretaries and whatever, and Private. Yes, I moved the rank Captain to be above Major. Recon is sort of like the police force. Elizabeth's in Mec, Dippet's in Med, and Foaly's in Programming (he works on city planning and the grid and all that). There are other government sectors and beau roués as well, of course.


	11. Chapter 11, Shedding

Suggested music: Foo Fighters, Pretender

Suggested Beverage: Red wine

0o0o0o0

**C** h a p t e r **1** 1

**S **h e d d i n g

0o0o0o0

Trouble Kelp was dead. He had lived as a lousy private, and he died as a lousy private, even if his family name had carried him to the rank of Brigadier General posthumously. He didn't die a hero's death: the higher ups had spent an unglamorous amount of time trying to shuffle him out of the way and keep him away from real danger, so he died of little more than bad luck. He'd been in a building when in collapsed. Rumor had it he had been with his wife and had turned off his tracker, but it was all very hush-hush. No one dug around for dirt. Lousy private he might have been, but lousy man he was not: towards the end of his life, he had been one of the most loved men in recon.

Holly had never seen anything crueler than what his death did to his little brother. Private Kelp, or as the other troops had affectionately taken to calling him, Private Discord, had advanced to First Lieutenant with a speed and determination that meant his title was, for once, entirely rightly earned. He had a steady hand when it was wrapped around a gun, eyes like a hawk, and a peculiar tilt to his mouth that made him look like he was constantly struggling not grimace. Even his smile looked pained.

It was common around the canteen to spend lunch breaks betting on what he could possibly get up to after hours. People had made bets on different female officers, on different hotels and bars, on different restraints and shows, on different male officers, and so far no one had won the pot.

All in all, Holly wasn't at all surprised to find him at the military graveyard, staring down at a dull white stone with dry eyes and his hands tucked in his pockets.

Holly cleared her throat hesitantly. Discord's eyes slid to up her face for a moment, then slid back down. He didn't say anything. She shifted onto her right leg anxiously, unsure of what to do. She was his superior officer. She'd never been so aware of how cumbersome the title could be until that moment.

"Someone you know?" She asked, nodding to the stone.

He looked down again and his mouth parted, like he'd only just realized he was standing in front of a gravestone.

"Dunno," he said. If she listened hard, Holly could hear a slur at the ends of his words. "I can't read it."

"What?"

"My eyes." He waved towards his face vaguely. "Some sort of blast shock. I can't…"

"Do you want me to find someone for you?" Holly asked softly. The wind blew up the hair at the back of her neck. Overhead, the simulated sky was threatening rain.

He shook his head. "I've been like this for two years. I can see far away, but close up… I know how to get to his grave, now, without having to see it." She didn't have to ask whose. "Besides," he continued, staring hard at the stone, "I might have known them. I'm not sure. I don't remember any of their names anymore, except his."

He looked up at her with haunted eyes. Holly hadn't seen many eyes like that before, except on a few mud-men who'd fought in the three world words on the surface. He'd been one of the first to volunteer for the worst kind of work his rank could afford him. Watching children die. Drowning deranged animals. Burning decrepit, starved bodies.

"What about you?" He asked finally.

Holly looked down at the handful of violets she was carrying. "No one you would know," she murmured, and brushed by him. One violet fluttered down onto the grave that he was looking at. The stone read Eva Vinyaya.

The grave yard was enormous and, as far as Holly could see in any direction, empty but for herself and Discord. It was located several miles away from the smallest city in Haven. There was one public transit stop at the entrance, with a little café and an out-of-sorts looking souvenir shop that almost exclusively sold cigarettes, flowers, and cheap wine.

Holly walked for about half an hour, turning south and east every so often. The rows of graves were numbered, and so long they disappeared on the horizon, as tiny and white as fish teeth. She stopped in front of a familiar, double wide marker with the carved likeness of a ring of granite roses spread across the top. She knelt down and could see her own reflection upon the immaculate stone, face divided by two sets of deeply engraved letters.

Private Jane Holly and Second Lieutenant Anthony Augustus Short, they read.

"Hey, guys," she said, then cleared her throat, feeling foolish. "It's… ah… been a while since I visited. I brought flowers." She forced a smile and put them down on the grave gingerly. The wind blew again, and one of them tumbled away from the group, into the grass. "Violets. I found some pictures the other day, and I noticed mom had some violets on the kitchen counter. I don't know if… you liked them, or if it was just because someone gave them to you, but… either way, it looked like good memories, so I…"

She trailed off, out of words. She hadn't thought at all about why she was visiting on the bus ride over, but she still kind of knew, deep down, that all of this, the flowers, the pretense of familiarity, the whole graveyard, was more about Emmet than about her dead parents.

"I don't know what you'd tell me to do if you were here. Things have gotten really complicated. I used to think I knew what I wanted, but now I'm not sure. I mean, I don't even really remember you guys. I don't know how to be a parent. I'm… I'm just trying really hard to hold everyone together, all these… _men_… with big ambitions, and I just can't do it anymore. Julius Root told me to calm down today. Captain Root." She laughed dryly, and then went quiet. "He's grown up a lot. If I didn't know any better, I'd say… ha, I'd say all this has been good for him. I guess he and Artemis knew each other better than I thought.

"Dippet… I don't know how he works into all of this. He's not even a ranking medic. I don't like him. He causes trouble. But… I suppose he means well."

She tilted her head back, lashes fluttering. Storm clouds thick and dark as grapes were creeping up onto the horizon, but directly overhead everything was a bright, glowing grey, harsh on the eyes.

"Then there's Foaly." She opened her mouth, choked faintly, then shut it. "I don't want to talk about him," she whispered after a long pause.

"Artemis. Artemis…. I need to be careful of him. He… I think he's dying. I… sometimes I can practically smell it. He's not sick, not seriously, anyways. But there's something really wrong with him. He's suffering." Her voice was hoarse with self loathing as she spoke. "Sometimes… sometimes I think it would be better if he just died already. I can't put it all into words, but… I'm scared. And not just for him.

"That's a new one, isn't it?" She shook her head ruefully. "You'd probably laugh at me, but after all these years in the military, I guess it's not just about me anymore." She paused, staring at her feet, at the flimsy violets, at the turned earth above her parent's bodies.

She only had the strength to say one more word: "_Emmet._"

0o0o0o0

Foaly was in his office sweeping up bits of plastic when someone knocked on his door. He squashed an irritated sigh, dropped the broom onto a couch, and went to see who was visiting. He was surprised to find Holly blinking up at him, soaking wet and nervous looking.

"May I come in?" She asked after a pause, folding her arms over her chest.

He stepped aside. "By all means, make yourself at home. Don't worry about dripping on the furniture."

Holly shifted back and forth, uncharacteristically anxious, and Foaly watched her avoid looking at him for a moment before deciding to go put the coffee on.

"I got caught in the rain," she said abruptly.

"Ah. Could I offer you a blanket? I'm making coffee. That should help."

"No, I-" she stopped, shut her eyes. When she opened them, they were still everywhere but his face. "Yes. That would be good."

"Which? Blanket or coffee?"

"Both."

Foaly grabbed a polar fleece from under the couch and tossed it at her. She shivered convulsively as the smart fibers in the material started to warm up, then she shot him a considering look.

"Turn around for a second," she said. "My shirt is saturated; it's starting to shrink up. I've got to take it off."

"I'm flattered that you decided to come here before stopping at your dorm."

He turned away obligingly, and she was silent for a moment. There was something distinctly uncomfortable about not being able to pin quite where she was behind him, but at the same time he was immeasurably glad that she had chosen to seek out his company. It was a strange, tingling mix of emotions on his already pressed nerves that made the skin on his hind legs twitch. Abruptly, he wanted to laugh at himself.

"I want to talk to you," Holly said eventually.

Foaly fished out two mugs under the sink. One of them was plain blue with a chip on the handle; the other was white and read Champion Geek in black letters, courtesy of Julius a couple holidays back. Foaly filled them both and handed Holly the blue one.

"Cream? Sugar? Honey?" He asked, and she shook her head, taking the cup carefully. The black coffee reflected her face perfectly upside down. She had tied blanket up and over her shoulders then pulled it to the side so she had one arm free, the other holding the fabric closed at the base of her neck. He smiled faintly, and then doctored his own coffee to the optimal level of sweetness. "What do you want to talk about?"

Holly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, her expression had resolved itself into one of great determination. Foaly felt something inside himself coil tightly in anticipation.

"I'm going to be completely honest with you, Foaly," Holly said. "Looking at you makes me so angry I want to spit."

Foaly wasn't quite expecting that much frankness. Stomach acid punched his gut, and he winced. Every part of him hurt. He… didn't think he deserved that. He honestly didn't. He'd made the choices he felt would best serve Haven and the world, and there was nothing shameful about that. If she hated him for it, then she hated him truly.

"Holly, I-"

"However, that's not what I came to talk you about, so you can stop flinching like you're afraid I'm going to hit you." Something in her voice broke and she looked down again. Foaly couldn't even guess what she was going to say. "I came to talk to you about Emmet. I promised the man I took him from that I would bring him back to visit. It's… it's very important to me that we do it now. More than important. This man, Hobbs, was like a father to Emmet. Foaly… I don't know if you understand how he must be feeling, but prove to me that you do. Bring us to the surface. Please."

And, well, there really wasn't any way to argue with that.

0o0o0o0

It took roughly five hours to reach a decision about how they were going to reach the surface, an amount of time that, under the circumstances, Dippet found ridiculous.

First, Holly wanted to get a private pod with just her and Emmet to the surface. Foaly pointed out that she would need him to get the pod back down, so he was in too. Root wanted to come as well, to mediate, he said, between Holly and Foaly. That left Dippet to babysit Fowl, and he refused. Either Fowl was going up, or Dippet was. Foaly said that Dippet should come up and Root could stay and look after Artemis. After all, as a medic, Dippet could be more useful on the trip. Dippet pointed out that Foaly was probably just scared Root would side with Holly on everything. Dippet assured Foaly that whatever he thought of Root, Dippet would do his best to be several times worse. That made Holly angry and turned Root a peculiar red in the face that Dippet had only ever heard about. Foaly lost his spine again until Dippet pointed out that nothing had been decided, then Holly tried to push Foaly out and take Artemis instead- "You can just explain it to him- don't give me that, Foaly, he catches on quick, don't you? Hey, her Artemis, you catch on quick, ri- Look at me when I'm talking to you!"- and that didn't work, because Root said that the only person who could properly muscle Fowl into anything was Dippet. Holly needed Foaly, Foaly needed Root, Root needed Dippet and they couldn't leave Fowl alone. So it was decided that they would all go. Plus Emmet. A very full pod indeed, Dippet griped, but no one was listening to him, anyways.

The pod was set to leave at 10:30 the next morning. When Dippet arrived a good fifteen minutes late, Holly was standing on the loading deck, holding Emmet against her shoulder and rocking back and forth. He was crying.

"The others are inside," she mumbled, gesturing to the large, glittering pod waiting in the terminal behind her.

"I thought you were running this today," Dippet snorted. "Why did you get lackey duty?"

Holly glanced down at Emmet and bit her lip. Her eyes were red rimmed, the corners sticky with sleep. Her hair was a mess and Dippet noticed for the first time that it looked like her outfit had already been worn a few times. "He didn't sleep all night," she whispered. "He's been at it for hours. I thought the music out here might calm him down." She gestured faintly to a few hidden speakers sprinkling quiet jazz onto the sparkling plastic floors.

Dippet looked at the child. Emmet was healthy enough, considering his upbringing. He could stand to gain a few pounds, but he was nothing like the severely emancipated Artemis Fowl. His shoulders jerked weekly, muscles shaking with fatigue. It was… unusual enough to refer to a child neurologist or psychologist, but Dippet wasn't going to pretend he was a shrink. He shrugged.

"It's not working. Let's go."

She nodded and led the way to the pod. The door slid open with a mechanized hiss, then snapped shut again and he stepped through the gateway. Inside, Foaly, Fowl, and Root were waiting, along with a huge computer and a wall covered in weapons. Dippet stilled, blinking.

"I didn't realize we were expecting a fight," he said.

Foaly was bent over the computer, something like glee spreading across his face despite the fact that his tale twitched nervously. Artemis was standing next to him, watching the screen like a cat might watch a bird through a window, tale twitching. He glanced up when Dippet spoke and regarded him openly, unblinkingly, then extended one finger to point at Holly as she put Emmet down in a plush chair. Dippet saw that her waste, thighs, and lower arms were covered in weapon holsters, instead of her usual singular gun.

Holly met his eyes. "Ignore it." She picked a helmet off the wall and threw it at him. Dippet raised both hands to try to catch it, fumbled, and wound up slamming his head first with the helmet, then against the wall as he slid to the ground. The helmet hit the floor next to him with a thunk, buckles spreading around it like arms.

"Oh my god," Root wheezed, then burst into laughter, clutching at his sides. Foaly gave a soft, surprised little bleat of laugher, that eventually swelled up in his throat and overtook him until both of them were shaking and crying and looking at Dippet and looking at each other and laughing even more.

Dippet huffed, disgruntled, and pushed himself into a sitting position, rubbing his head. Holly gave half a smile and walked to stand right in front of him.

"Sorry," she said. She didn't look it. In fact, she looked distinctly pleased with herself. Dippet frowned at her ineffectually. "Put it on. I want to see if it fits."

He spent a moment considering trying to stay angry, and then decided that if he put the helmet on he could at least avoid further head wounds. He fumbled upright and tugged it on. Inside, the helmet was cool and black. Headphones slid to rest against his ears and a mouthpiece hovered at the end of his chin. Something touched his head softly, and two fingers slid up against his neck to prod a button along his cheek. He winced at his visor slid up, revealing the room in stunning, better than actual clarity. Holly's face was in sharp focus right in front of him, a slightly perplexed expression on her face. She crossed her arms.

"How does it feel?"

"Fine," he said, but she shook her head.

"You have to turn on the speakers."

"Right," he muttered. "Been a while since I've had to wear one of these. There, can you hear me? Everything feels like it's in place."

"Good." She busied herself fastening all the buckles. Behind her, Foaly was starting up the take off process. There was a gentle rocking, and the pod began to ascend, gaining speed as it went.

Dippet was not a soldier or a programmer, but he had an unrivaled understanding of the pull and sway of things, the turning of the earth, the prickle of instincts and human understanding. If there was a reason a man as unkind as Dippet had been drawn towards medicine, it was because of this. He couldn't perceive the subconscious and unconscious, but he could feel what they perceived, somewhere in the basic, animal ID of his construction when it brushed against his ego, like a snake felt an earthquake coming and knew to be afraid. There he knew in a way that made his nerves ignite imperceptibly, that made the muscles along his spine wrap tighter and tighter around his nervous system, that made his very core vibrate like a plucked piano key: whatever waited for them as they gradually rushed up to the surface was grinning with big, hungry teeth.

0o0o0

"Damn," Root mumbled, walk out of the pod and onto the concrete pad they had landed on with unsteady legs. "You really know how to fly one of those things, Foaly."

Foaly walked down the ramp to stand next to Root, twirling the craft's keys around one finger. Foaly had pulled on an unusual suit that covered both his horse and human body parts. Combined with the bulbous helmet he wore, there was hardly anything familiar about his appearance, except for the addition of his tinfoil cap overtop his helmet. His visor slid up to reveal his face through a sheet of glass, and he smiled wickedly.

"I designed the combat training simulation," he grinned.

Dippet stumbled out next, swaying and pale faced, and Holly followed with Artemis and Emmet. Artemis walked up to stand beside Root. His sun visor was down. It looked like he was watching the horizon, trying to catch a glimpse of the sun through the clouds, but it was hard to tell without being able to see his eyes.

Even Emmet had a helmet and uniform, which was, if Root was honest with himself, beyond adorable. Ignoring the fact that seeing a toddler in military regalia should have been exactly the opposite.

Root sighed. "What are we going to do about the food?" He asked.

"Food?" Dippet frowned.

"For the refugees," Holly explained. "I promised I'd bring them supplies. It's all packed underneath in the holding bay; we can get them all to help unload it."

"Where exactly are we going, by the way?" Dippet asked. He had a pinched, tired expression on his still green-tinged face.

"We should be going just a little south of due east," Holly said, pointing out into the great expanse of metal in front of them.

"Lead the way," Foaly told her with a sweeping gesture and a bow. He must have really enjoyed piloting the pod to be that giddy, Root thought sourly.

Holly led them down off the platform and into the maze of streets, following a long avenue through the center of the city. Overhead, broken iron beams formed a rusted canopy. In some dark corners, Root saw rats the size of cats living in mass, scuttling down to the open sewers and then back up to the pavement without pause. They watched him and his companions pass with red eyes. Every so often, Artemis would drift behind, and they would all pause for him to catch up. His head roved back and forth as he took in the landscape. Root wished he could see the boy's face.

Eventually they reached a narrow crevice between two buildings where Holly paused, clutching Emmet's hand tightly. Root walked over to her and put a hand on her should. She glanced up at him, smiled, and then slid through the crack. Root followed closely, with Dippet, Foaly, and Artemis trailing after him. It was a tight squeeze. Rust brushed off on Root's shirt, streaked like blood. He grimaced as metal scraped along the side of his helmet, and then he was standing in a crude, metal dome with a large pit in the center, scorched with the remains of fire. There were crates all around the walls, some full of canned goods and others full of rotting fruits. Everything was covered in the traces of ash. Everywhere there were rats.

Holly gasped and pulled her helmet off like the smart filters had deceived her somehow. Instantly she reached up a hand to cover her nose and mouth, eyes watering.

"It's not supposed to be like this," she whispered. There was terror in her voice. "What happened?"

Root looked around. "This is where they were living?" he asked. "You're sure? It's not just… a storage unit, or some-"

"No! This was it, this was the place. Oh no. Oh no. I…" She broke off with a weak, desperate sound, fisting her hands. She walked around the fire once, spinning around, looking for signs of life. Rats scattered. "Hello?" She called. "Anyone here? It's me- it's Holly Short! I brought Emmet!"

No one responded. Root walked over to her quickly and snagged her arm. "Holly," he whispered. "This is important: you said there was a branch of AMN nearby, but I need to know: did you show these coordinates to any other officers?"

Holly's stared at him in horror. Root found an odd sense of irony in the fact that she hadn't even considered the military's possible involvement. She had always been all about doing, all about emotions and noble intentions. She never gave herself time to really think about things.

"No," she whispered back. "But I gave Foaly the footage, and he knew I was in New York. Do you think…?"

"I don't know. It would explain why he might have lowered the priority on those pods." Root glanced at the others, who were all beginning to spread out and search for signs of life, looking down between crates and under rubber tarps. Dippet was examining the fire pit. Emmet and Artemis were sitting on the ground near each other.

Holly blinked at him for a moment, face full of confrontations, then clenched her hands into fists and swung on her heal.

"We're dealing with this right now," she said.

"Wait, Holly, don't-" He jumped after her, but she was already across the dome and had Foaly by the arm.

"General Foaly," she said, "I want a good alibi, a really good alibi, to prove that you didn't do this."

Foaly stared down at her like she had a knife in his gut, like she was killing him. Root winced. There it was. The accusation out in the open. How very like Short to completely disregard strategy and just go for it. Root wished he had that kind of confidence. Or a cigarette to make up the difference. Christ.

Dippet turned around, sighed out through his nose, and said, "If he can't tell you, I can. He does have an alibi. Every second that he hasn't been in your presence or in his home- which is under surveillance for security reasons, by the way- he has been reviewing the tapes from Fowl's eye cam. Together, we've been trying to date every injury on Fowl's body, leading up to and possibly after the brain surgery."

Holly turned to Dippet, mouth open to shout, then seemed to hear what he'd said and snapped her mouth shut again, considering. She turned back to Foaly.

"Is this true?"

"_Yes._ Holly, please believe me." He wasn't smiling at all, now. Years ago, Root had wanted to bring Foaly down a few notches, but this was awful to watch. "I wanted to figure out a way to heal some of Artemis's injuries without damaging his brain. Or, I suppose, figure out a game plan for him to do it himself. I was trying to finish it before the month ended. It was going to be your birthday present."

For a moment, Holly looked like she was going to cry, then the moment passed and she recovered herself. Root wondered if she finally understood why Root knew Foaly wasn't a traitor. Because to Foaly, Holly was the daughter he'd always wanted. "Oh," she breathed.

Emmet stood up and walked over to her, taking hold of her hand firmly. His eyes were wide, but dry.

"I'm sorry, Emmet," Holly said, touching his helmet lightly with her free hand. "They're not here right now." Root noticed that Emmet's face, however somber, was dry of tears, completely clear, at what he imagined was precisely the same moment as Holly. Holly flashed him a confused look and then knelt down next to Emmet. Even with her helmet on, there was something soft and natural and distinctly female about her posture that Root had failed to see in a long time. "Honey?" she murmured. "It's okay if you need to cry."

"I don't need to cry," he said. "I was only doing it because he told me too." One hand extended and pointed towards Artemis like the fingers of fate herself.

The great god of the machine turned. Artemis. Artemis was a genius. A crazed, wounded, and very possibly _homicidal _genius.

Four sharp gazes flashed up to where Artemis had been standing a second before, only to just catch sight of him slipping through the mouth of the dome. His discarded helmet rolled unsteadily across the dirt flood, like an egg, and came to rest at Root's feet. Root bent down and picked it up. He considered, for a moment, the mechanics of humans using magic, and the story Artemis had told them, and the AMN base Holly had said was close by. Then, as the only recon officer present, he assumed authority.

"Catch him."

Holly bit her lips, then handed Emmet over to Foaly like a sack of potatoes, pulled out a gleaming gun in each hand, and shot a steaming hole through the wall. Her wings snapped open, buzzed a few times in protest of the sudden heat from the melted iron, and then she jumped into the air and zoomed out into the sky.

Root turned to Foaly and Dippet. "You stay here."

"But-" Foaly tried to stop him, but he glared.

"No. Stay."

"Honestly," Dippet snorted, "he's not a dog-"

But Root was already charging out the door, drawing his shiny 4000 and turning it on. It hummed in his hands like a living thing.

0o0o0

Holly's heart was beating faster than it ever had before in her life. She didn't ever remember feeling this alive, she didn't ever remember feeling this angry. She could hear Root's harsh breathing through her headset, accompanied by the mechanical click of his weapon as he set different autofire zones. It felt good having a gun that big below her, reading to pick off her enemies. Her infrared vision showed a severely overheated body moving with surprising dexterity through the densest cover of debris.

"Root," she said into her headpiece. 20 degree east, 30 degrees up from my current location. Fire down that beam."

Root grunted in affirmation, and Holly swerved upward sharply as three bright blue jets of light shot through the sky, striking the thick beam. It roared with heat and collapsed into the wreckage beneath, throwing up the harsh scream of bending metal. A cloud of rust and dust rose around the area, briefly dampening Holly's vision, but the dot she was watching, the dot that was Artemis, stayed crystal clear. It paused under the new obstacle, then began to climb up. Holly glared, appalled at the shear gal of it, trying to face her, a heavily armed Vice Captain while completely defenseless.

"Target is rising," Root said. "I have a clear shot to the supports under the bridge. Stay airborne. Holly: try not to shoot him, will you?"

"Shoot-" Right, it was Artemis she was chasing, not some random terrorist. The thought of him enchanting Emmet into tears, though… that made her angry. But how had her done it? Emmet had shown none of the regular symptoms of mesmer. It was hard to check the red eyes, but she would have been able to feel the magic on him, certainly, and even if he'd whined to go back up, an emotional plea like the one she'd received… The more she thought about it, the more certain she was it hadn't been anything she'd ever seen before, and that made her pissed as hell.

She wrenched back to visor on her helmet, turned up her speakers, and got ready to yell the scowl off one immature brat.

Then Artemis climbed up on to the top of the collapsed beam, and Holly remembered why she'd brought Emmet down to the Haven in the first place. Artemis straitened up like a god, like a statue. He was white as marble, dark hair whispering around his face in the ethereal winds, thick lashes and black eyes staring right at her, right into her… soul, or something. She stumbled to a halt on a ledge a few feet from him, wings whirring and clicking behind her.

He stared at her calmly, and suddenly she wondered how she'd thought he was looking at her soul, when he wasn't looking at her at all. He was looking through her, like a fish or a bird.

"What are you doing?" She gasped.

He blinked slowly. "Goodbye, Vice Captain Holly Short."

She took a step forward. "Wha- Where are you going? Why?"

He shook his head, turned around, and started to walk away from her.

"Don't turn your back to me! You must be about ready to pass out," she shouted, then added quietly to Root, "Permission to fire?"

"Permission granted. Fire at will."

Holly set her gun to low, then licked her lip and pushed it up a little past civilian force. He didn't even glance back as the lasers heated under her fingers, warm even through the fabric of her gloves. Three short beeps told her it was ready and she fired sharply, perfectly strait, arm jerking faintly with the delayed report from each.

There was a flurry of movement, so fast that Holly couldn't understand where it had come from or what it was doing until the clarity filters in her helmet caught two frames, two human faces. And then Holly's three shots froze in mid air, like suspended glow sticks, completely halted. They shone brightly for a few second, so bright that without the smart filters they would have been hard to look at, and then blinked out.

"Root," Holly breathed. "Two humans, do you have a clear visual?"

"No. Send me a chart."

Her fingers twitched as she sent him the feed from her camera, then she focused for the first time on the two people in front of her. They were both women, medium height, willowy, wearing blue uniforms, tall black gloves and boots and broad, yellow armory belts across their hips, curiously similar to Holly's own outfit. They were almost identically built. One of the girls- because they were young enough to easily be called such, in their early twenties at the oldest- had dark skin and long black hair loose around her shoulders. There were wide cutouts along her uniform, a triangular one dropping down from her collar bone and two long ovals from the narrowest part of her waste and ending at halfway down to her knees. It looked indecent, and Holly's lip drew back slightly. The other girl's uniform went all the way up her neck, but her gloves were open on the fingers and she had one hand spread out in front of her, awkward and frail. Artemis didn't even glance back at them.

"Artemis!" Holly shouted, in one last ditch attempt to get him to face her, to make him explain.

His head turned just slightly, so that she could see a sliver of his ghostly profile against the sky. "That is not my name," he said simply, then stepped off the bridge and dropped out of sight.

"Stop!" The scream wrenched out of Holly's throat like all of her anguish taking flight all at once. "You can't leave again, you bastard! You can't leave us! Artemis!"

"You heard what he said," the dark skinned girl said. Holly stared at her, stunned and horrified.

"Who are you?" She asked. In her ear, Root was talking fast.

"Target cannot be hit unless you retreat. Vice Captain, retreat. I order you to retreat. I order you-" She ignored him.

The blonde girl shifted slightly, almost like she was shy. "We are guards."

"Guards of what?" Holly asked. She made a show of turned her 3000 away. She wasn't sure what they wanted. There was cold sweet on the back of her neck, heavy with the knowledge that they could belong to AMN, but somehow they didn't look like what she'd imagined members of a lethal organize would.

The dark girl smiled playfully. "We are the Guards of Speed," she said, like she was explaining something that should have been very obvious. "My sister makes things slow down, and I make things speed up." She winked, then slammed her hand onto the ground. The metal exploded where her fingers brushed it. Alarms in Holly's helmet screamed, but Holly was frozen in place, because the solid iron, solid iron was suddenly-

Furious, boiling liquid, shooting out towards her like a crack in ice, leaping and roaring and-

She had her wings to thank for her life. The air above the iron heated instantly to white hot and was pushed up by the downward weight of the cold air above it. The sudden gust of wind swept her backwards like so much dust, so hot that she could feel the whispering, dangerous heat even through the reinforced, high-tech material of her clothes, threatening to find even the slightest week spot between the fibers and turn her to ash inside her uniform. She gritted her teeth and began to accelerate backwards as fast as she could.

"Captain, fire!" She shouted.

"Firing in three, two, one," Root said calmly, and then the entire world was swallowed in blue light.

Holly had only seen the full fire power of the 4000 used once, during a demonstration from about 1000 yards away. Here, only a few hundred meters from the target, it was a stunning sight to behold. It raced up the street, a cylinder of brilliant cyan light extending from the tip of Root's gun, cone shaped for about five meters before it reached its maximum diameter- more than twice her body height. The pavement beneath it was torn to rubble feet in advance of being hit, the sides of buildings peeled away before its crushing power. A thrill of fear went through Holly as the blonde girl raised her hand again, but this time the light barely slowed.

Holly slammed her visor shut as the beam hit the bridge; the last afterimage burned into her retinas was that of two frightened girls, hair blown back and face illuminated with ghastly light, staring death in the face before the platform exploded.

Holly raised her visor a crack a few second after the roar reached deafening levels and then vanished, leaving her ears ringing. All that remained of the bridge was a white hot metal stump. This time, the blast itself created very little wasted heat energy, and only the metal itself warmed the air around it until everything shimmered. The pavement below of decimated, open all the way to the wrecked sewers. Even if Holly couldn't smell it, she could feel the vile reek of waste thickening the air around her. Her wings buzzed a little harder to compensate for the sudden increase in humidity in the air.

"Direct hit achieved. Target neutralized. Report."

"No other threats detectable, Captain" she said, then paused. "Permission to pursue Fowl?"

Root sighed tiredly. "Denied. Holly, we need to rearm, get you an effective weapon, and ensure the other's safety. Don't you want to make sure nothing has happened to Emmet?"

Holly stared numbly out at the city.

"Root… what do you think he meant? 'That is not my name'?"

"I don't know. Come on, let's go."

Holly stared at the spot where Artemis had disappeared in helpless fury, hands curled painfully tight inside her gloves.

She flipped off her speakers. "Don't think this is the end," she whispered into the dark space of her helmet, which felt, for the first time she could remember, more like a lonely extension of her body than a sanctuary. Her words were as much a warning as a promise.

0o0o0o0o0

You guys are amazing! Thank you so much for all these reviews.

Review Replies:

Holly Marie Fowl

Thanks! I'm glad you still like it. I think I'm really going to finish this one. For a while I wasn't sure.

TexasDreamer01

Heh, making you stay up was my plan all along! Bwahaha! But seriously, thank you so much for betaing for me. I just posted the redone chapters, you are amazing.

mercenarymoon

Sad and amazing is what I am going for ;). The Aztec Incident? I'll have to see if I can't read that…

Tanglenight

I'm glad I've continued, too! I am trying to work on the spelling errors. TexasDreamer01 actually betaed chapters 1-3 for me just recently, so that is very exciting. The background research is actually a lot more fun than I thought it would be. Information is so easily available these days, it's not even hard. Don't worry, there won't be any romance. I just… feh. I don't write it.

andaere

Hehe, I love Artemis angst too. He'll be back, I promise. Nike's part of Artemis, of course, but Artemis is essentially the main character bits. Like, the part that has emotion. And I'm so glad you've been enjoying this, I really am. I've been pouring my soul into this the last couple of weeks.

sheluby94dreamer

Woot! Thanks for hanging in there through all these ridiculous, plotty chapters. For some reason, whenever somehow doesn't post an update in a while, the first thing I always think is "Holy crap, what if they _died_? What if they're _dead_ and this account is just _rotting_ and I will _never_ know what happens? What if they haunt me because that's what's making me upset? NOoOo!"

I'm predicting 5 more chapters. I like writing this much more than I thought I would. Now with added GOD and FEMINITY and DEATH and VILLAINS. Expect more illumination in the next chapter- more exciting illumination- and _possibly_… a certain lost race?


	12. Chapter 12, Sleep Only So Deeply

NOTE: THIS IS THE SECOND HALF OF THE LAST CHAPTER REPOSTED AS A NEW CHAPTER, because the last chapter was 10,000 words which is insane, so.... Sorry for the repost.

Suggested music:

Suggested Beverage: Red wine

**C **h a p t e r **1** 2

**S **l e e p **O** n l y **S** o **D** e e p l y

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0o0o0 Topside, Approximately 9pm 0o0o0

The boy who didn't call himself Artemis walked through a domed hallway so large that the intricately patterned ceiling above him, trickling with condensation, disappeared in darkness at it' highest point. The floor was tiled black, or a green so dark it looked black, and glittered like the great body of a serpent. The air was cold and moist, dampening his hair until it hung into his face. Long lines of florescent lights stretched both in front of and behind him. The buzzing sound they made and the soft trickling of water at a distance created a subtle percussion to guide his steps. The boy could feel, more than hear, great fans somewhere overhead laboring to supply to supply him with oxygen.

Rounding a corner, he came to a round set of wooden double doors with brass handles. The handles were so cold when he took hold of them that his hand prickled with pain. At his lightest touch, the door swung open to reveal a grand, round room. The walls were glistening white stone, and everything was lit by three yellow chandeliers. A mahogany banquet table took up most of the room.

Five AMN guards sat on either side of the table. One girl was curled up on her chair in only an oversized bathrobe, clutching a cup of warm liquid in one hand- hot chocolate or coffee. To her left was a woman with fine black hair, dark skin, and a dark red evening gown. To her right was a curt looking white man wearing a lab coat. Across from them were two men, both in uniform. One of them had spiky black hair and didn't look older than eighteen; the other had blonde hair cut in layers and aristocratic features set into a board scowl. At the head of the table, a sixth man swathed entirely in black cloth had his head down and his hands clenched on the armrests of his chair. No part of his body was bare.

"I apologize for the interruption," the boy who wasn't Artemis said. "I didn't expect to find council in order."

The man at the head of the table looked up. The lower half of his face was obscured by a dark cloth, and the upper half was shadowed by the lip of his hood so that nothing was visible of his skin or eyes. Three plastic tubes snaked up under the hood and disappeared into his cloak. The boy wasn't sure if the man was looking at him or not.

"Why come here, then?" Asked the woman in the evening gown. She was twirling a peacock feather fan in one hand, watching it as though the movements her own wrist inspired were something awesome.

"I need to speak with the Commander."

The cloaked man regarded the boy for a moment, then spoke softly in a voice that seemed to hold no emotion at all. "Very well," he said. "Whatever you want to say to me, you can say in front of your sisters and brothers."

"You replaced the Guard of Speed," he said.

The man in the lab coat waved one had through the air dismissively. The boy recognized the Doctor and resolutely did not narrow his eyes in distaste.

"Old news," the Doctor said. "The last Speed was a mess. Too many programs at once, just couldn't hold herself together quite right. These two are perfect. Think of the possibilities using two people for one guard might have! Oh, and welcome back. It was getting awfully boring around here without you."

The boy's eyes flickered to the Doctor, then quickly returned to the Commander. "The new Speed might be perfect, but they're also badly burned."

"Explain," the Commander ordered.

"I took control of this body directly after the quake and fulfilled the mission. Unfortunately, I was pursued upon leaving Haven by two of Artemis- my alter's- acquaintances, Vice Captain Holly Short and Captain Julius Root. Speed came to my aid, by were unprepared to face military weaponry. They're in the infirmary."

"I am disappointed."

"I'm sorry." The boy lowered his head. "I expected to have more time."

"There was no need to give you more time. You should have been able to carry out the mission without endangering your sisters in only a few hours."

"Come now," the Doctor said flippantly, grinning up at his Commander. "Cut Rust some slack." He glanced back at the boy and raised an eyebrow. "That is still your name, correct? Please tell me you haven't decided to change it again. So much paper work…"

"It's Nike, now," the boy, Nike, replied.

The Doctor groaned, but the girl in the bathrobe smiled at him then stuck out her tongue. "You choose the stupidest names. Sometimes I think we should have made you stick with Birdie. At least that's a _boy's_ name."

Nike shrugged. "Call me what you like, Sesame. I have no interest in your games."

"Poo," the girl mumbled, slouching back into her chair irritably.

"I agree with the Doctor," the woman in the dress said. Her eyelids were very heavy, dusted purple in contrast to the rich tone of her dark skin. "The boy accomplished what we told him to. Speed can take care of themselves. And if not, we can always make another pair. Isn't that right, Doctor?

"Quite right, Claret. Although to be honest, I'd prefer not having to…"

"Enough," the Commander spoke again, and there was a hint of something like amusement in his voice. "Very well, Nike. Even if your mission did not go entirely as planned, you seem to have made some influential allies among the council. I suppose that is enough of a reason to keep you around. I'll call for someone to bring you to your room."

"No," Nike said quickly. "I have a favor to ask, first."

"If you're asking for my indulgent ear, you have it." The Commander seemed to be in a placating mood. That was good.

Nike kept his head bowed and his face impassive.

"There is a girl I wish to extract revenge from."

"Who?"

"You call her the Guard of Rot."

"Minerva?" The blonde man raised a hand to forestall the conversation. "You mean that silly little girl who follows Smith and Grey around?"

"That's the one, Jordan," the Doctor said, leaning back in his seat.

Claret tossed her hair. It looked black as oil even in the bright light, sucking in color around it. "I don't see a reason why we shouldn't humor him. Minerva has almost expended her usefulness, anyways. Just tell me: why her?"

"She was the one who tricked Artemis into returning to Haven," Nike said softly.

"She was serving AMN," Claret pointed out. "Besides, Artemis doesn't support our cause."

"Artemis and I may have different priorities, but we share certain interests. Mainly a body, even if he doesn't know it yet. I can't help but feel slightly protective over him."

"Don't joke, Nike," Claret sniffed. "We all know what you really want. Didn't get enough throats to slash while you were in Haven?"

Nike allowed a smile to pull up the corners of his mouth. "Maybe that's part of it."

"Very well," the Commander said. "I will grant your request. But don't kill her. I have plans for her."

"Oh?" Jordan raised an aristocratic brow. The Commander turned his head very slightly towards Jordan, and the blonde man fell silent instantly, pupils shooting so small in his eyes that they almost completely disappeared in the blue-green of his irises.

The last man to remain silent at the table, a teenager with short, dark hair cut in jagged bangs across his up-tilted eyes smiled at Nike with sharp teeth and leaned forward across the table.

"Commander says, right? Here, let me take you up to the infirmary. Things are getting stuffy in here anyways."

"Hey," Sesame pouted. "You can't leave me alone with all these old people. Claret, make him stay!"

Claret looked down at Sesame and shrugged delicately. "Let Blue do what he wants. And do act your age, Sesame. We all know how old you are."

Sesame bit her lip and crossed her arms with a huff. "Fine. Whatever. I'll get Grey to help me beat you up later."

"Grey? It wouldn't even be a challenge."

"Nuh-uh! The Doctor gave him some really good programs, didn't you, Doc? And if he's fighting, Smith will help. You can't beat all three of us."

"Come on," Blue stage-whispered. "Let's get out of here."

He grabbed one of Nike's hands and pulled him out of the room through a back door into an old fashioned elevator. He pressed two buttons, and the elevator shuddered for a moment before starting to move.

"God, you have no idea how glad I am you dropped by," Blue said, grinning. He relaxed until his lax posture appeared to fill up the entire space, even though he was only a few inches taller than Artemis. "I've been in there for hours. I'm not gonna lie, I don't even know what the Commander was trying to get us to discuss. Seriously, what's there to talk about? We've got a staff of normals to take care of all the maintenance shit. There are maybe a hundred guards in here. Until we get everyone else back, there's really nothing to do."

"Troops are being recalled, aren't they?"

"Are they?" Blue rubbed the back of his head. "I didn't know that. Why am I on the council, anyways?"

"The Commander selected you."

"Right. You know, dude, you're kind of a buzz kill. Is it true you're a monster?"

Nike looked up at him and blinked. "Yes," he said.

Blue snickered. "Yeah, right. Whatever you say, _'Rust.'_"

Nike's eyes widened a fraction. "You know."

"Only from the moment I saw you, dude. Don't get me wrong, I don't think anyone else has caught on."

"If you noticed, the Commander must have-"

"Hey, hey, hey," Blue raised his hands defensively. "Don't be so quick to judge. The alternates are my specialty. The Doctor might make us, but I'm the one who keeps track of everyone, you know? It's a tough job. Grey had, like, fifty personalities before the Doctor was done with him, and half of them liked pretending they were the other ones. I got my shit together enough to sort all those out, I got my shit together enough to tell that Rust is still in there, somewhere, along with little Artemis." Blue flicked the side of Nike's head, and Nike swayed to the side with the impact, colliding with the elevator wall dizzily.

Blue rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to tell anyone." He kicked the floor. "I fucking hate it here. I don't expect you to get far, but I won't interfere."

Nike put out a hand to steady himself on the wall. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"Whatever, man. Why would I bother lying? Smith can extract any information from anyone, you know. It's not like I'd need to play good cop for her to get you to sing. So ah, good luck. And watch out for yourself, dude. Your room number is 356. The door's unlocked. They key should be in an envelope on your pillow."

"What about Minerva's room?"

"Minerva's room? No, man, you kiddies are sharing."

"I'm older than you, you know."

"Hm. You only think you're older than me. I'm like, way old. I don't even remember how old. Like, forty or something."

Nike glanced at him sideways, and found he was curious enough to ask. "Oh?"

"Why not, you know? You only live once, you might as well live young and beautiful." He winked. "So yeah, if you and Minerva get bored, just give me a ring. That girl needs to loosen up." He made a rude gesture with his hands.

Nike waited in silence for the elevator to stop. "Thank you for your silence," he said concisely, then stepped out into a creamy white hallway lined with doors.

"Sure thing, dude," Blue called. "The desk is right after the bend up there! Good luck!"

Nike found an unmodified normal working at the front desk. Her hair was in disarray and there was something strangely hollow about the tilt of her mouth. "Minerva's in recovery through door C," she told him.

The recovery unit was warm and clean. Many beds were set up around the room, each one with screens pulled closed around them. A few more normal attendants were stacking blankets in a heater and spooning soup into bowls.

"Excuse me," he asked one man. "Do you know where Minerva is?"

The man stared at him in confusion.

"Minerva," Nike said again, slower. "She's about this tall, long blonde hair, skinny, just like this around. Curls? Like this?"

The hand motions seemed to work. The man's eyes lit with comprehension and he shuffled over to a bed in the far corner.

Nike hesitated for a moment, staring at the slight drift and sway of the curtains around the bed. There was something foreboding about the last barrier between him and that girl. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then yanked back the curtain.

There she was, spread across the white hospital blankets with her head tilted back and her arms at odd angles. She was wearing linen pajamas instead of her usual heavy cloak, and Nike could see black bruises crawling up her arms, neck, ankles, and the slight sliver of pale stomach between her shirt and pants. Particularly nasty were the thick, dark lines around her neck and wrists and the swollen, off yellow wound distorting the skin under her left eye. There was blood around the rim of both her nostrils. Her skin looked yellowish, like sun-withered silk spread over grey algae. Even her hair looked damp, deflated, sticking out around her head like mossy sea grass.

He reached out a hand to trace the inside of her palm. Her fingers were curled like the legs of a dead spider. Her nails were overlong, gagged, and clotted with dirt and blood. Everything about her was foreign.

"Minerva," he said. "Minerva, wake up."

She didn't move. His hand drifted up her shoulder and he shook roughly. Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped like she was dying, focused instantly on his face with unseeing terror. The terror gave was for a moment in brief recognition, then she yanked herself into a sitting position at the top of the bed, feat drawn up against her chest, quivering.

"Rust," she whispered

He watched her for a moment, taking in the shaking of her shoulders and the labored quality of her breathing, then turned and began to walk away. "Follow me."

She scrambled to follow. He felt a stirring of quilt as she stumbled behind him along seemingly endless hallways, sick, unsteady, a girl he barely knew.

Artemis knew her, though. Artemis would have wanted her protected. And at ground zero of what Nike was beginning to suspect might be the final coffin of humanity, that was really all that mattered.

Door number 365 in the dorms was unlocked, just as Blue had promised. The rooms Nike had been assigned were humble, but not undesirable. He had a living room with a couch, television, and a set of computers. He had a kitchen, a large bathroom, a walk in closet, and a pantry stocked with canned foods and dried cereals. No movies, no CDs, no paintings or rugs. No windows.

Minerva stopped in the doorway of his bedroom. Nike glanced back, measuring her with his eyes. She was physically about two inches taller than him and not quite as skinny, but his body hummed with the hidden power of blood mods, and hers… didn't. If he had seen her outside, he never would have guessed she was a guard. More than just being worn and bruised and dirty, she looked tired. Or like she'd been born tired, like she was always going to be tired. Her posture wilted at every joint, a marionette on invisible strings. He was surprised her head didn't loll back and forth as she walked.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said.

She drew herself up slightly and brushed by him, then sat primly on the very edge of the bed. She met his eyes steadily.

Nike sighed. "Are you hungry?"

"You're not him," she said. "Don't try to lie to me. You're not Rust."

"No," he said. "I'm not."

"But… you're not Artemis either."

"No." It didn't worry him that she had figured it out. She knew them better than anyone else in the Guard, after all.

Her face collapsed into confusion. "Who are you? What do you want? I don't…"

She bit her lip and pulled her legs up again, hiding behind them like a child. Her eyes were red and dry, blisteringly hazel. They were fixed on his face, calculating, predatory, ready to catch a lie.

He hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to her. She recoiled and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Call me Nike," he said.

She shuddered. "I was so… I wanted Artemis to escape so badly… I hoped that he would figure out it was a trick, or one of his friends would, and he would stay in Haven. I _prayed_ for it, goddamn you. I hate you for bringing him back." Her voice went hoarse as a whisper. "I hate you so much."

Nike watched her shudder with shear, unadulterated despair with cold dispassion. "You don't even know me."

Minerva gave a startled hiccupped then met his eyes uncertainly. "Can I talk to Artemis?" she asked.

Nike shook his head. "Try to sleep."

She bit her lip and looked down at the floor, hands lying uselessly on either side of her body, like nothing more than flesh over bones.

"I remember, when I was young, my father's doting used to frustrate me. I thought being surrounding by people like me- intelligent people, you know- would be heaven on earth. But this… I don't understand it at all. There's no art here. There is nothing human at all. I can't remember the last time I saw a working piano." She gave a harsh, cold laugh, and held up her fingers, as crooked and ruined as his own. "Even if I find one, I'm not sure I still possess the dexterity to suit the keys."

He tilted his head to one side. "You are upset. Did you think Artemis would save you?"

She shook her head. "No. Not really. I just… will you hold my hand?"

He considered for a moment, then reached over and wound their fingers together delicately. She sighed with relief and wiggled onto her stomach across the bottom of the bed, head pillowed on her free arm and hand still in his.

"You can all be one person again, you know, if you try hard enough," Minerva told him. She paused, then added, "I know you can do it." Nike said nothing, and Minerva sighed. "Whatever you're planning, then, be careful. Most of all of yourself."

He watched her eyes slide shut, then leaned back onto the bed with his feet hanging off the end. He glanced at his hand in hers, then at his shoes, and toad them off carefully. A clock was ticking somewhere in the kitchen. The sound gradually began to numb his senses to the world. It was going to be a long wait, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"Sleep only so deeply, Minerva," he murmured. "In the morning we have work to do."

0o0o0o0

Get it? Get it? Oh my God, you must all want to kill me, but there you have Dissociative Personality Disorder. Er… surprise?

Okay, one question: does anyone know what holidays the fairies are supposed to celebrate?

Also, I'm so sorry this story is so much about white people, Jesus Christ. It's like a Star Wars convention. I mean, Claret's Indian, and Blue's Korean, but still borderline offensive, honestly. I'm offended. So many OCs! I'm keeping the focus on cannon characters, obviously, but… Well, there weren't really any severe villains in the series that I could reenlist. And I'm sorry Minerva's even in this story. She won't get too much more screen time. And I'm sorry if this chapter made no sense! Please just tell me if it didn't, and I will either repost a better version of this chapter, or clarify in the next one. And finally, I'm sorry about Nike. He's no fun to write. If everyone hates the idea of him, just tell me, and I might write him out of it. Because I cater to me reviewers. Because I need the attention- also because I love you!

You guys are amazing! Thank you so much for all these reviews.


	13. Chapter 13, Another Traitor

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Suggested Music: No Cars Go by Arcade Fire (Also, I discovered recently, great background music while flying into a feminist rage. Which I do quite often.)

Suggested Beverage: Strong Black Tea

IMPORTANT NOTE:

On the government: They have a primarily parliamentary government slapped onto a military state. The ranks of the army go Fuehrer (elected primarily by the generals with some input by Parliament, like the President or PM or whatever), General, Lieutenant General, Major General, Brigadier General, Colonel, Lieutenant Colonel, Captain, Vice Captain, Major, First Lieutenant, Second Lieutenant, a whole crap load of secretaries and whatever, and Private. Yes, I moved the rank Captain to be above Major. Recon is sort of like the police force. Elizabeth's in Mec (mechanical), Dippet's in Med (medical), and Foaly's in Tec (technical) (he works on city planning and the grid and all that). There are other government sectors and bureaus as well, of course.

0o0o0

**C **h a p t e r **1** 3

**A** n o t h e r **T** r a i t o r

(Warning: rating for this chapter is a little up from the last one due to violence.)

0o0o0

It was hard for Holly, as an officer who had never spent more time with children than strictly necessary, to decide if Emmet was a normal human two year old or not. He was obviously intelligent: he could speak and run and solve practical problems, but his upbringing left something to be desired. At times, it was hard to tell if his unusual behavior was just a symptom of being raised in a warzone, or if it bespoke of deeper holes in his psyche.

One morning when she walked into his room, she had found him up to his shoulders in the fish tank, trying to catch the fish. She grabbed him by the waist and dragged him away as fast as she could, then carefully wiped off his arms with a handful of paper towels.

"Don't reach in there," she had said. "You'll hurt the fish."

"I know," he had replied, and refused to say anything else on the subject, only whined piteously to be let out of his room.

She considered consulting a psychologist, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Foaly had written a report to the Fuehrer a few days ago explaining Emmet's presence as part of a social experiment to better understand humans through a collaboration with recon, medical, and technical sectors, but it was a pretty feeble lie and Holly didn't want to push it. Instead, she had picked up a couple of books at the library to read through and resolved to spend more time with the boy.

Sprawled on the floor of Emmet's bedroom, watching the boy organize alphabet blocks and trying to decide whether the motion of his hands was nervous or merely flighty, Holly wondered if she shouldn't have read the books before beginning psychoanalysis.

Emmet glanced up at her from the corner of his eye, frowning in concentration. He picked up one of the blocks- X- and placed it in front of her.

"X, huh?" She said. "Can you give me an H? H for Holly?"

Emmet's scowl deepened. "Belts," he said.

He'd been very quiet for the last three days, so hearing even one word out of him was heartening. Holly smiled encouragingly.

"Okay." Holly grabbed the B and put it front of him. "Can you show me what letter comes next?"

He just looked at her, the little block castle he'd built earlier sadly unfinished, and she borrowed a few letters off the top to finish the word. "There you go," she said. "B-e-l-t-s. Belts."

"That's not a belt," he said slowly. He lifted one hand and drew an X in the air. "Green belts."

"Oh," she blinked, finally understanding. He was talking about the green ammunition belts she wore when they went to Topside. "But don't you want to learn how to spell it?"

"Spell?

And just like that, it occurred to Holly that Emmet had no idea that the blocks had any meaning beyond their use for building.

"Emmet," she said slowly. "Do you know your ABCs?"

He looked at her and shrugged. She reached over and tugged a block out of his hands. "Do you know the alphabet, Emmet?"

He frowned. "Gimme."

Holly opened her mouth to reply without any idea of what she could possibly say, but was cut off by the high chime of her phone going off. She glanced down to see who was calling, then stood up.

"I'll be right back," she said, then stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her. "What's up?"

"We need you at HQ," Captain Root told her. There was gruffness in his voice that made her frown. "All the Generals have been called away, I only have the news Major General Brash has chosen to disclose, but… It's the demons."

"Oh?" Holly raised her eyebrows, honestly surprised. Since the return of the Lost Colony five years ago, the imps had been doing their best to remain hidden away and impartial. They were still only just recovering from a war that had taken place thousands of years before, and had no interest in becoming involved with a new one. "What are they up to?"

"Dying," he said.

0o0o0

General Foaly took his seat among his peers with a careful silence that betrayed nothing of his emotions. The auditorium was almost entirely full as the last few generals filtered into the room, half dressed and holding new papers or still damp from showers with their clothes sticking in a way that must have been irritating. Foaly had been lucky enough to be caught right after dinner, just opening up the screen of his portable laptop. He'd dropped Root a quick message in as few words as he could manage- "Generals Summoned, Listen for Gossip" -and trotted over at more or less his fastest pace. He wasn't sure how he was still late, although it could have something to do with the steaming coffee in his left hand and the crossword puzzle in his right. Possibly.

The room was crowded. Foaly had forgotten how many Generals there were. Each of the main branches of the military had six generals, but there must have been dozens of others with fewer because there were close to a hundred General in the one, conference room, plus at least as many secretaries hovering in the shadows behind them.

General Bullfrog nodded to him as he sat down, and then jerked his head up to the podium. Foaly followed his gesture and saw the Fuehrer's secretary, thin as a waif with long brown hair in two buns on either side of her head.

"Please rise for Fuehrer Argon," she said in her soft as cotton voice.

The door at the back of the raised platform opened, half in shadows and flanked by several armed guards. The Fuehrer must have hesitated for a moment or said something, because the door pulled back further and then he stepped into the light.

Fuehrer Argon was, Foaly hated to admit, an extremely impressive man. He was some sort of elf, and although his mother had been a pixie, he shared very few of her features. He had the kind of sharp, straight nose and strong, slanted jaw that had probably been universally admired since the beginning of time, and white hair cut short to his head, a sharp contrast with his dirt brown skin, a dull, grayish tone that made his handsome features look severe. Even the way he walked was predatory; every one of his steps unfolded with the grace and purpose of mantis. Along each of his cheekbones rested six small thorns, dull grey to match his eyes. Foaly had heard it rumored that he filed them down each morning to keep the points from growing and eventually curving back into his skin, like the tusks of a pig. Foaly wasn't sure if that was true, but it was easy to believe.

Argon scanned the room briefly. Foaly concentrated on not stiffening when Argon's eyes passed over him, trying to keep from thinking about the report he had written up on Artemis and Emmet. Some careful editing had kept his movements from appearing criminal, mainly surrounding his order to bring Fowl underground in the first place, but it was a close call. He'd glossed over Artemis's connection to AMN so thoroughly that if Argon didn't investigate, he would believe Artemis had only ever heard about them, and completely removed the alleged connection between Artemis and Emmet. With roughly a third of the information in the report entirely fabricated, Foaly knew that his actions sounded half mad and completely unreasonable.

Seemingly not finding anything out of order, Argon turned back to the door and made a conjuring gesture with one finger. From the darkness of the hallway behind came three horribly ugly individuals.

It honestly took Foaly several seconds of staring to realize that they were demons, and the generals around him took longer than that.

"Early yesterday morning, Hybras was attacked," Fuehrer Argon said without preamble. "These three civilians are the only survivors." If it had been anyone else speaking, there would have been an uproar. As it was, the Fuehrer's words were met with utter silence.

Foaly's eyes traveled across the three of them. Two men, scaly and hard of brow, and one woman, clutching at her dress with lizard-like fingers. They all had the same wide, horrified eyes, but her were especially stricken. Essentially, the demons are already extinct. It was almost ironic, for a race to go from being legend to reality to legend again so quickly. Very few members of the government had even seen a demon outside of pictures. Qwan had met once with Parliament when they first returned, then the Warlords met with the Fuehrer and a few personal staff members- not Foaly- and that was it. They went their separate ways.

Argon waited a few seconds for that information to sink in and for the generals to grow used to the sight of them before allowing the three to sit down. "I invite Raraka, Grareb, and Zagr to speak. Please," he said. "Tell us what happened."

The larger of the two men, a demon with an unusual coppery color to his horns, glanced around at his companions and then began to speak. "I'm not sure when it started, exactly. I woke up at five am when my wife came to tell me she couldn't wake our children, but I think it started a few hours earlier than that, while we were all asleep."

"What started?"

"The disease." He paused, face drawn and unreadable for a moment, hands twisting, then continued quickly at a glance from the Fuehrer. "Or… maybe not a disease, exactly. Some kind of biological weapon? I don't know. The wizards were the first to go. They were all dead this morning in their beds."

"Describe to us the condition they were in," the secretary prodded.

"Horrible. It was horrible. We found them in their beds. There was blood in their eyes, noses, mouths, ears, and it looked like… well, it looked like their necks had been broken forward. There wasn't time to examine any of the bodies. Pretty soon, the children and elderly were being affected. The symptoms were severe fatigue, muscle weakness, followed by extreme pain in the head, neck, and shoulders, then bleeding from the face. I- my son was already dead when I found him, but I was with my two daughters when they died. There were no more ambulances by that point, but most people still didn't know what was happening. It was too fast. In about three hours, everyone was dead."

"Except for us," the woman behind him said. "And I think I know why. We are all cousins who suffer from an illness called Intorqueo Medius. It means that each of us possess a pair of recessive genes from an elf. A long time ago, demon and elf lines crossed. Other demons are magical creatures. We are not. Early on, the developing elfin parts of our bodies reject their demon counterparts. We can only survive on a heavy dose of supplemented hormones. It is a difficult condition to live with."

"So the disease affects whatever parts you don't have?" The secretary prodded.

"I presume. There were two Ambassadors, pixies from Haven, staying in Hybras. They brought us back here, and they were the ones who caught the… whoever he is."

"Who did they catch?"

"The mud man. He walked right up to us, told us he was going to kill all of the demons, and then passed out cold."

The secretary nodded, then addressed the last man. "Do you have anything to add?" He shook his head numbly, eyes trained on the floor.

"The human is currently in custody," the Fuehrer said. "I will be handing him over to recon General Frock. Will you make the arrangements?"

General Frock stood up and bowed deeply. "I will, Sir."

"Good. I am also going to appear today before Parliament to declare Amendment Five. All top ranking Generals are required to appear for the vote."

Foaly's skin twitched. Amendment Five would allow the Fuehrer to take a temporary dictatorship over the government. Drastic measures.

"But Sir," General Flores said, brow pressed into a deep frown. "Shouldn't we wait until we interrogate the captive?"

Interrogate. Foaly felt a strange chill unfurl in his stomach, and he leaned forward a little, resting his head on his hands.

"Our prisoner could not have been acting alone. If there is a hostile group of humans on the surface who know we exist, preparations need to be made immediately." Foaly narrowed his eyes. The Fuehrer knew almost everything Foaly did about AMN. He wondered if he would be singled out for further questioning later.

If it was AMN that had attacked the demons… well, there was a thought to lose sleep over. They were the obvious suspect: a large, malicious, high-tech organization that was aware of fairies. At the same time, it made no sense. What could they possibly gain from killing all the demons, man, woman and child? The demons were essentially powerless. Even the wizards weren't good for much in a fight, unless they had hours and hours to prepare for it.

Foaly closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. He needed to visit Hybras. He needed to see for himself.

"I must to excuse myself," he said stiffly. "Good day, General Bullfrog."

"It's Bufran, General Foaly." The man answered, a tired sigh staining the previously intense look on his face. "For the hundredth time. _Bufran_."

0o0o0

Dippet didn't remember ever feeling less comfortable. He wearing a lab coat, mask, and rubber gloves up to his shoulders, holding a hacksaw, poised over the recently shaved head of the of a dead demon barely five years out of adolescence. It wasn't that Dippet was shy of a dissection; rather, he was dubious of being chosen to wield the main instrument. He was a general practitioner. He hadn't turned anyone inside out in years.

He wasn't expected to use the saw, though, unless something went wrong and one of the surgeons needed to get an interior view. Thank God. There were hundreds of bodies in a big refrigerator out back, and if they thought dismemberment could help identify the cause of death, well, it wasn't like they didn't have enough spares to make mistakes…

Dippet watched as the head surgeon placed a hand in the center of the demon's back, bare fingers glowing faintly blue. He moved his hand slowly upward, spitting words as he did so. "T5, Stomach, T4, Gallbladder, Spleen, T1, Liver…"

"Doctor Dippet?" A different surgeon called.

Dippet stiffened with queasily dread. "Yes?"

"Pass me a glass of water, will you?"

"Ah." Dippet closed his eyes and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You alright there, Dip?" The unit intern said, obviously grinning behind his mask.

Dippet scowled. "I was just thinking I might need to go to the bathroom. Can I trust you with this?" He held out the saw. The intern hesitated, face flickering with something like comprehension, something grim, and Dippet turned back to the autopsy.

"Lower lung, right, lower lung, left, middle lung, right, upper lung, right. Some ruptures, blood and fluid. Upper lung, left. More fluid. Damaged bronchioles, C7, signs of swelling, bone shards, jugular internally punctured, vocal cords, C1, major point of break is here, spinal column severely damaged, swollen tissue … severely swollen. Bottom of Cranium. More swelling. This is highly unusual. The visible hump is not formed by the vertebrae, but only by the swelling. Fluid. Internal bleeding, fluid reservoirs. Shards of bone are lodged all throughout the neck and up into the brain. Ruptured blood vessels throughout head, similar to a stroke, possibly caused by swelling. Ruptured blood vessels behind eyes, burst vessels in nose, burst vessels in gums. Sever buildup of blood around teeth. Ruptured blood vessels under tongue, major artery ruptured."

The surgeon stopped and pulled his hands back. "Possible cause of death: suffocation due to severance of spinal cord. Blunt head trauma."

A puddle of blood was growing gradually under the body. An assistant stepped forward and tugged up the edge of the plastic mat to keep it from dripping on the floor. Dippet supposed she was sparing somebody the jobs of having to sterilize the drains in the floor.

A second surgeon walked over and rolled the demon onto her stomach. There was a cloth tied across her face out of respect, but it stuck to her cheekbones and mouth in dark splotches until he could almost make out her features. For a demon, she was really almost pretty, still soft and impish.

Dippet stared at her pale, bloated stomach, and avoided looking at the horrible concave bend in her neck.

In his mind, a different medical puzzle was slowly resolving.

Artemis Fowl's evolving medical file made less and less sense every time Dippet returned to it. Sleeping drugs, insomnia, torture, brain surgery, something to do with… but he already had magic... Dippet's brow drew down. How did it all fit together? More than anything else, what really didn't make sense was why AMN pursued methods of persuasion that seemed as likely to drive a person insane as to gain results- keeping them sedated, waking them in the middle of the night, extensive torture, random changes in schedule.

Unless… unless that was the point.

'That's not my name…'

Maybe AMN hadn't been trying to bend Artemis to their will at all, they'd been trying to snap him cleanly in two.

"Ah," Dippet murmured. He turned abruptly and thrust the hack saw into the intern's hands. The kid flashed a horrified stare up into his face.

"Excuse me, please," Dippet said. "I'm feeling rather faint."

0o0o0

Holly crossed her arms, feeling a bit sick and staring down at her lunch with the sad realization that buying it had been a terrible waste of money. She noticed bitterly that no one else seemed to be having any difficulty stomaching their food.

"So, let me get this straight," she said. "Artemis-"

"Let's not call him that," Dippet interrupted. "It wasn't really him, after all."

"Well, it was a part of him, right? Besides, it was him at the beginning, and that was what I was going to say."

"It might have been. To all three suggestions, by the way." There was something about his tone that was making her angrier than usual.

"It was!" she insisted.

"Quit it," Root sighed.

"Fine," she mumbled. "Fine. So, Artemis-" she shot a nasty look at Dippet- "possesses an evil split personality that a bunch of evil geniuses made in an underground lab to work for them because they knew Artemis- the real Artemis- would never do what they wanted."

"Cartoonish, isn't it?" Dippet smiled, probably pleased with himself for actually figuring something out for once instead of just tagging along behind a group of more competent officials. "It stands to reason that the personalities switch when he is unconscious. While he was here- or at least, while we were monitoring him- his brain activity never lowered into true unconsciousness, not even when he passed out to get here. The only time he might have truly been knocked out was when he hit his head during the quake."

"I believe Holly," Foaly said, stabbing a forkful of grassy salad and chewing it savagely. "Artemis's alter must have woken up during the quake. The real question is why."

"Why he woke up?" Root asked, brow furrowing.

"No. Why he came here in the first place. There are pretty much two possibilities. The first: the story Artemis told us when he got here was true. One of the Irish branches of AMN fell, and he escaped. His split personality escaped accidentally, stayed long enough to fuel up on food, and has gone to try to find any remaining pieces of AMN. Somehow, AMN didn't realize he had an eye cam in, despite their extensive security. The second: the Irish branch never fell. It was entirely a ruse designed to make Artemis run and eventually wind up back here. Once he reached his destination, AMN made the tremors and would have kept going until he hit his head if he hadn't fallen over almost immediately, which explains why the tremors stopped so soon after. His eye cam was left in so we wouldn't suspect he was lying. Artemis's alter was sent down here with some kind of mission which he completed before leaving. We didn't meet Speed by chance; they were waiting to accompany him back into the fold.

"I rather think," he murmured softly, "that it's the second possibility."

Holly tried to let his words sink in, but the simmering oil of wrongness in her subconscious kept her from accepting them. "No…" she whispered.

Root glanced over at her. There was tension across his shoulders and a slight, nervous tick in his hand. "We need to find out what Artemis's alter did down here, which means we have to figure out what AMN wants. They've modified their members into weapons, but why? Why kill the demons? What are they gaining, here?"

Foaly finished off his meal and snapped his utensils down with an air of finality. "You two recon officers should request a private interrogation with the prisoner."

Dippet stirred his drink absently and shrugged. "They can try, but I don' think they'll have much luck. He's locked up bellow the medical division right now, in case he tries to suicide. I haven't seen him, but apparently… he's stark raving mad."

Holly blinked. "You mean… like, more than just having an evil split personality?"

"I'll say it again," Dippet said. "Stark. Raving. _Literally._ He just sits there and screams nonsense at the top of his lungs."

"Is it possibly he went rogue?" Root asked, scowling.

Foaly made a thoughtful face. "I'll leave you to sort this out. I'm going to go back to my office in the mean time and see if anything's out of place, then I'm going to try to retrace Artemis's steps from his stay here."

"I should get back to the hospital," Dippet added. "We still have a lot of work to do. I'll leave you two to it."

Holly nodded absently, and her eyes drifted passed Foaly and Dippet as they wordlessly collected their cups and plates and departed and saw a familiar someone slumping into the cafeteria. Shoulder's sagging with exhaustion and eyes deadened by glossy sleeplessness, it was Elizabeth Bloom.

"You know," Root said absently, "as far as interrogations go, this one will probably be pretty brutal, assuming that AMN have though to work some kind of counter to the mesmer into their surgical bill."

Holly turned to look at him and scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He met her eyes for a moment, then dropped his gaze. "Just… I know you've been spending a lot of time with Emmet. This isn't a line of work designed for mothers."

Holly's eyes flashed. "Is that what you think?" she hissed. "What did you think when you helped me into the military- that in becoming an officer I'd just… given up on everything else? It doesn't work that way. I can do both. I'm going to do both."

Root nodded slowly. "Good," he said. "I'm glad." He honestly sounded it, and Holly suddenly felt a bit embarrassed about her outburst. She glanced around and saw Bloom again, then bit her lip.

"Look, can you go ahead? I think I'm going to go catch up with somebody."

Root cocked an eyebrow, but took his tray and stood up. "Don't take too long. I expect you to get into contact with me ASAP."

"Yeah," she said, but he was already gone.

Holly took a moment to sit and stare at her food before standing up with a grudging sigh and clearing her plate, then trotting over to the lonely table where Bloom sat with only a steaming cup of coffee and a small pile of empty sugar packets for company. She glanced up when Holly reached the table, and quickly made to sit up straighter.

"Please, Vice Captain, feel free to sit down," she said.

Holly hesitated, then pulled out a seat and settled in it. "I only have just a moment," she said.

"Of course, Sir. What can I help you with?" Bloom, Holly thought dryly, was going to go places in the military. Even though her face was an unnaturally pale shade comparable to skim milk, she still made a point of being overly polite.

Holly gave a half smile. "You don't have to be so formal. I only came over to ask if you were okay."

"What? Oh." Bloom looked down at her hands. "I'm just… tired."

Just tired? She looked dead. A shiver of fear passed briefly down the back Holly's neck, like a chill finger stroking tenderly under her spine, but she forced it back and focused on the conversation, cocking her head to one side. "Have you been working on something?"

"Yes. I've been trying to figure out what happened to the alarm system, but I just can't. I'm missing something." Unexpectedly, she grabbed a fistful of her hair in each hand and sunk onto the table dejectedly, eyes wild with frustration. "I thought I knew what it was, but now… I've just… forgotten…"

Holly's mind raced, trying to come up with a decent time line what time for who was going where between the quake and her departure from Have, but there had just been so much confusion, she hadn't even thought to glance at a clock and she couldn't even begin to guess if Artemis would have had time to…

"Don't run yourself into the ground," Holly said. "Everyone forgets things sometimes."

Bloom took a deep, shuddering breath. "You're right," she sighed. "Of course, you're right. How's your… ah, Captain Root's nephew?"

Holly allowed a brilliant smile to unfurl across her face. She barely had to fake it at all. "He's good. Maybe you can come over and visit him sometime."

Bloom's lips twitched. "That'd be nice," she said. "I have a cousin about the same age."

Holly stood up, waved briefly in parting, then turned and walked away abruptly. Somewhere in her mind was the swirl of uneasy anticipation for what she was about to see, wrapped into Root's own clawing words, somewhere there was a great unnamed fear for everyone she wanted to protect, and the creeping, almost debilitating fear when she thought of the word: genocide. She wasn't even sure if she was lying to Bloom or not. She was completely out of her head.

She let the harsh, brittle laugh that wanted to escape her shaking chest sink beneath her skin and simmer there.

0o0o0

The basement looked pretty much like Root had expected it would: enormous, made of mostly cement and bare, super strong hydro-fill, and sporadically punctured by huge vents. A gentle wind circulated through the entire space, bringing all the air towards a big recycling machine where it was cleansed, then spat back out on the other side, tasting like hospital.

The first three floors beneath the city were storage. After that, there was an entire floor of security- scanners and big vacuums and locked doors in rows. Root, Holly and their guide took an elevator down to the fourth floor, the detainment center. Root knew from school that the fourth floor was completely isolated from the rest of the building. The entire thing was caged in. There were no emergency exits. The floor ran on an entirely different set of pipes, air, water, even electricity: separate tanks, separate generators. The one elevator was the only way down.

Holly glared suspiciously at a camera high up on one wall as the door slid open. Root knew that for every foot deeper into the earth they went, Holly would become more and more anxious. Root, for once, was feeling exactly the opposite. With the story about the demons just released to the public at an enormous press conference, and the Fuehrer speaking before the Parliament with all the power of the Generals behind him, Haven was literally buzzing with fear and rumors. It was almost a relief to enter the silence of floor negative four.

The elevator dinged, and their guide, a dwarf who, for some reason Root couldn't fathom, seemed to have consented to wear a tight fitting suit that made it quite clear she was in fact a female, preceded through the open door into a short hallway beyond with no pre ample.

She pulled her left hand out of her pocket, and Root noticed that she must have been discreetly holding it there for the entire trip through the underground, because a ring rested in her hand, passing through the center of her palm on one side and out on the other. It was small enough that the far edge from the piercing pressed between her middle and ring finger, and it was covered in keys. Her eyes, a flat, electric green against her pallid grey skin, slid to his face for just a moment before she opened the door, manipulating one key easily with only two fingers. She stood back sharply.

"You may proceed. Please note that you will be under visual surveillance at all times while on this floor. Your conversation will be recorded, but you will be the only ones legally able to collect and listen to it. No copies will be made here."

Root noticed with amusement that down here, no one would bother calling him Sir. He nodded his thanks and brushed by. Holly followed quickly. He recognized the faint scent of her sweat after years of working with her, and resisted the peculiar urge to reach back his hand and take hers.

Inside, the cell was different that Root had anticipated. It was large and clean, with blank walls and florescent lights. The floor was neatly tiled. It radiated cold through the soles of his shoes. In the center of the room was a table with a pitcher of water and several glasses, flanked by chairs. The prisoner wasn't sitting in either of them. He was sitting against the far wall. Handcuffs held his arms above his head and his feat were chained in front of him; loosely enough that he could bend his legs but not so much that he could touch any part of his body to any other. He was wearing a white, paper hospital gown and what looked like pajama bottoms. His feat were bare and his hair was tousled, accentuating his dirty skin and heavy, bagged eyes. There was blood on his mouth, and a little bit of spit. A rubber dam was glued to his back teeth to hold his mouth open and to keep him from biting his own tongue, and there were the obvious outlines of bandages under his clothes.

There was no defiance in his eyes. More than anything, he looked pathetic.

Root tilted his head to one side. The door clicked shut. Holly pulled a chair from the table, turned it around, and straddled it facing the prisoner. The man's eyes raised and focused intently on each of their faces in turn.

"You," He said. "Tell me where they are." He spoke in elegant, well enunciated Russian around the rubber blocks, and Root's mind automatically switched over to the new language.

Holly glanced back at Root and raised an eyebrow. Root considered for a moment. It really wasn't a formal interrogation, so he didn't really have any obligation to follow standard procedure.

Acting accordingly, he shrugged. "Who?"

"Demons- two, maybe three-" A rising note of hysteria suddenly choked his voice. "they're- here! I saw them! Let me… let me…" The man's word's halted and he threw himself against the chains suddenly, first this way then that.

Root hid his shock behind a blank face and glanced at Holly. She had elbows resting on the back of the chair and her chin resting on her hands. She looked unconcerned.

"I- where am I? I can't- Goddamn that _fucking_ kid!" The man's voice changed abruptly to a snarl at the end of the sentence, and that startled Root into almost taking a step backwards. The prisoner wrenched his head one way, then the other. Root noted absently that the officials in charge of him had thought of almost everything. The area around his head was padded, as were his cuffs. Suicide would be impossible.

"Calm down," Holly said. Her voice had taken on a smooth, clinical tone that Root recognized faintly from her occasional hospital shifts above ground. He almost smiled. He shouldn't have worried. "Thrashing around won't get you anything. Maybe if you tell us something we want to know, me and my Captain here can do a little leg work and get you something worthwhile."

The man stopped moving and turned his eyes up to her slowly. "You…" he hissed. Spittle bubbled at the corner of his mouth and dripped down onto his shirt. "You're the one…"

Holly shrugged. "We're leaving in a few minutes. This isn't good cop bad cop. We won't come back. Talk or don't, it's your choice."

The man wheezed, head lolling forward onto his chest. His face was twisted. He looked drugged. "Go," he hissed. "Get out!"

"Is that you final answer?"

"No!" Holly jumped a little at how loud the man screamed. His eyes went wide and frantic. She glanced back at Root as the man twitched and writhed against the wall, snarling. He shook his head very slightly.

"That brat! That… agh!"

"Artemis Fowl," Holly whispered.

Root's stomach clenched with apprehension. "Vice Captain," he said warningly, but the man on the wall had fallen still, panting harshly.

Holly wasn't paying Root any mind, and while that irked him very slightly, he wasn't worried. Her back tensed all the way up her spine, and she was leaning towards the prisoner slowly, probably unaware that she was doing it. "Tell me," she breathed.

The man's body went absolutely tense again, and then he was speaking so fast it was like he was trying to drown himself in the words, "I-killed-them-I-killed-them-I-killed-them!"

"Either he's completely insane, or he's under some sort of compulsion to answer our questions," Root said, narrowing his eyes as the man continued to rant.

Holly nodded. "That seems possible. Do you think…?"

"Yes. I do."

She fixed her eyes hard on the prisoner's face. "How did you kill them?"

The man fell limp in his chains, glaring up at her and panting. A bead of sweat ran down his brow. It occurred to Root how much bigger this man was than Holly and him. Holly was only about four feet tall, still tall for an elf, while Root was just under five feet. This man was probably six foot two.

"Are you in AMN?" she asked. "Did Artemis Fowl make you to do this?"

The man choked faintly, then smiled. It wasn't a nice expression. "You're asking the wrong questions, Holly." A shiver passed down Root's spine. They hadn't told this man their names. "Think of something you don't already know the answer to."

Root glowered, hearing Artemis's voice in that answer. Even if Artemis's alter had given this man instructions to answer their questions, he was still being a brat about it. If he was on their side- and Root was only just beginning to realize that he really hoped he was- why couldn't he just tell them what they needed to know?

If he wasn't on their side, then what game was he playing?

With some difficult, Root resolved to ignore his frustration. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking, and then asked, "What is it that AMN wants?"

"Ah, very good," the man said, then his smile shattered and his eyes and mouth snapped shut again, nostrils flaring, in out, in out, with his suddenly labored breathing. Random tremors flickered across his body. Very carefully, he turned his head up and tugged lightly on the chain on her left wrist. He paused for a moment afterwards, and then his whole body sprang upwards in a flurry of motion to fast for Root's eyes to follow. The six inch long nail that had been holding his arm in place tore free of the concrete, carrying a huge clump with it that smashed into the floor a foot away from where Holly was sitting. Holly leapt to her feet, but then stood frozen as the man ripped the bite block out of his mouth and sunk his teeth into his own wrist.

Root jumped into action a second too late. He picked up the end of the chain and pulled as hard as he could, but only succeeded in drawing the man's wrist about an inch from his face, leaving a chunk of slimy flesh hanging half out of his mouth and blood all over his face. He must have torn an artery right out of his arm, because the next second, blood splattered everywhere. Root had heard bleeding described as a fountain, but he'd never really expected to see it. Thick, dark blood sprayed across Holly's unmoving face and she flinched, eyes pinching shut and hands going into tense fists. Spots decorated her nose, cheeks, the corner of her mouth.

Root had half a second to debate: run for help, or try to heal the man himself, and in that space of time the prisoner's body convulsed once, then fell still. He'd bitten through his own tongue, as well. There was blood solidly covering everything from his bottom lip to his belly button, hanging in ropes from his chin onto his chest. Root grimaced, then he put his arms around Holly's faintly trembling shoulders and began to tow her backwards.

"Come on," he said.

She made a faint, choking noise. "Why'd he do that? No one… should want to die. I put… so much effort… into healing…"

"Come on," he repeated. "Let's get out of here." He shot one last, backward glance at the body. "Come on."

0o0o0

The tallest tower of AMN jutted some thirteen stories above a series of scrubby cliffs, while the rest of the massive structure was buried in the mountain beneath, where the endless, windowless corridors were slowly beginning to drive Nike mad. There, at the apex of that tower, Nike could sit on a small balcony with his legs hanging down below him, swinging softly in the breeze, and escape for just a moment.

Minerva sat next to him a few feet back, wary of the edge of the balcony, as ever present as a specter. She met his gaze when he glanced back at her. Her eyes were burning dully, no longer wide with fear. Somewhere behind them, Nike could see steel. Apparently, sometime in the last hundred or so hours, she had decided that he was not a threat. I bit unflattering, but in her case, truer than she realized.

"I need you to tell me about your position in the organization."

Minerva's eyes fluttered closed, like his question caused her physical pain to answer. "What do you want to know?"

"How many missions have you been on?"

"Just the one." Her voice burned as well. He had to admit, he found her anger… interesting. It was a fascination that, he supposed, must have come from Rust.

"I see. I have been curious. All the prisoners who were released with me, were they…?"

"They were only props. We killed them all."

Nike stared, unsurprised but strangely disappointed. Somewhere below them, a buzzard sounded, like a great swell of hornets rising into the dry heat. "Why did Smith and Grey choose you to accompany them?"

Minerva shook her head but kept her eyes closed. "It was the other way around."

"What?"

"I chose them. I am the team leader."

"Minerva… what are Smith and Grey's official names?"

"Those are their official names. I named them. Smith was my friend back when we first met, four years ago. Grey was her fiancé. The two guards you know are the Guard of Smith and the Guard of Grey. Now, they call themselves Lilia and Romanov, when they call themselves anything at all. I had hoped…"

Nike felt no surprise at the thought of Minerva, always so stubborn, trying to wish two guards back into their right minds. He was surprised, however, at the thought of her being awarded the honor of naming them. "How strong are you, exactly?"

She swallowed. "Strong. Not strong like you."

He considered for a moment, then said, "Fight me."

Her eyes snapped wide open, white visible all around the pale shock of her iris. "No," she hissed. There was desperation in her voice. "I can't. I don't… want you to see it."

"I'll have to see it some time. Or you'll at least have to tell me about it." He frowned, stilling his leg's swinging. Wind sucked at his feat, pulling his shoe laces down, down, down. They were untied and muddy. Somehow, he thought they looked like something a real eighteen-year-old might have worn back before the war. A few pieces of dust cracked off and fell with the tumbling air, disappearing underneath him. Nike didn't feel the slightest trace of vertigo. Would a thirteen story fall kill him, when his bones had been reinforced with the highest grade shock absorbers technology could create? He didn't know.

Minerva shook her head hard. "No. It's not good for anything but killing. If there's someone you need dead, tell me then. Otherwise… never. I would never turn it on you. It doesn't work like that. I have to _want_ to kill someone- all those poor people…."

"You did at that. Why?"

Minerva looked away, out over the cliffs. There was something infinitely grim about her, in the way that a mother forced to choose between her children might be grim. "You were more important than them," she said. "I let myself undergo the surgery. I agreed to murder more than half a dozen people. But I never lied to you, Nike. I _hoped _Artemis would stay hidden with the fairies, but I knew he wouldn't. I always knew he would come back to destroy this place. You being here changes things."

"I see. Before I arrived, you were just choosing the lesser evil, the possibility to save more people through the sacrifice of a few. Like a soldier. Now, if I don't change things, you will become a common murderer." There was no spite in his voice. He watched her expression crumble impassively. "I still intend to fight, and I still intend to win. Will you follow me?"

"Yes," she answered, immediately.

"To clear your name, or for Artemis?"

Minerva was silent for a moment, staring at him, then she shrugged and turned into the breeze. Nike watched as the wind caught one of her curls and tugged it into her face. She'd taken a shower that morning, and a bit of gloss had returned to her appearance. Not much, but a noticeable amount. The lack of blood was a significant improvement all on its own. Eventually it became apparent that she wasn't going to answer, and Nike was left wondering.

Nike and Artemis were both cut for the same unfortunate, thirteen-year-old boy. So was Rust. Rust was the one the Doctor had created. Rust had every moment of torture in high clarity that Nike only glimpse in occasional flashes during the in between time when they're all jumbled into unconsciousness, and those pieces are burned into his psyche the moment they brushed him (_Artemis tied on his back, twisting and trashing and making horrible, animal noises as a guard somewhere above him turned a long screw suspended over his trapped left foot, gradually drivedrivedriving it through the bone, grind, scraping inside out the bottom arch of his foot, no, stop- sweating, heaving- Whatever you want, just- hng!_).

At the same time, Rust had only a splotchy recollection of childhood or school. He couldn't remember what cities had existed before the war, or how many people might have been lost. And he didn't care. Nike was just an accident, another fragment of a damaged mind splintering away as Artemis subconsciously tried to protect himself. What would happen to Artemis if they all rejoined was a mystery. No other guard had ever managed it.

Behind them, the door out onto the terrace opened and a familiar smiling face peered around the corner.

"Yo," Blue said, flashing a peace sign. "Hybras has been defeated, just in case you were wondering. The Guard of Poison died, I guess, but he still followed his orders. The mission was a failure. Looks like we'll be mobilizing."

Nike sighed. Blue's presence was constantly tiring. "So we begin Plan B tomorrow," he said.

"Yikes. Pretty exciting, right? All your plans in order?"

"Yes. I need you to request that Rot, Speed, Smith, Grey, and I accompany the Commander and his council on their mission."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Blue stepped the rest of the way through the doorway and pulled himself up cross-legged onto the banister, as well balanced as a cat. "Hold your horses there, cowboy. I never said anything about helping out."

Minerva glanced over at him. "You'll have to choose a side sometime," she said.

Blue glanced at her, then visibly dismissed her presence and focused back on Nike. "Here's the thing: if you fail, I still want to be able to come back to the council and live in reasonable comfort for the rest of my life, pretending this never happened. I'll watch the show or run it. I'm not gonna do your dirty work."

Nike turned to him, trying to work out what game he was playing. "Please," he said finally.

Blue ran a hand through his hair. "…Oh fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "They don't call you the Guard of Persuasion for nothing, though. Fuck. Damn. _Fine._ I'll do it. You'd better be damn grateful too, kid. The rest of the council is already getting suspicious of me because I won't spar with the Doctor."

Nike froze. If the Doctor was practicing, then that meant… "Why is he coming?" he whispered.

Blue raised an eyebrow. "No clue, but I guess I'll do my best to find out. If… listen, I've got a favor to ask." Blue suddenly looked intensely uncomfortable. The expression rested well on his teenage face. He licked his lips and glanced at Minerva again. "I don't care what you're planning. I mean, I can guess. The Commander holds the magic, right? So if you can kill him, then you can defeat AMN. I don't know what the other guards have to do with this. None of your programs will work on him, and more importantly, the council will never give in. You'll have to kill them all. Listen, though. You can't kill Sesame."

"Pardon?"

"Sesame. You know, about yay high, curly hair, probably narcoleptic, always wears pajamas? She's not like me. She's actually a little kid. The Commander found her when she was just a toddler. She's only part of the council because she's a natural user. And you know kids, they believe what they're told. She doesn't know any better. Whatever you do, just… don't… kill… Sesame."

Nike blinked, but didn't allow himself any other show of surprise. In his mind, he remembered Rust's brief stint in the Council, and the first time Sesame had killed anybody, under orders from the Commander just to make sure she could do it. _"Is that all?"_ She had asked, blood soaking her bathrobe. _"That was easy." _Then, with an eager smile,_ "Give me another."_

"Very well. I see no reason why she should have to die. The Council has fallen farther than I think even you realize. They've forgotten that magic is a science." The Doctor complicated that, but…

"You're one cocky bastard," Blue said, half of his mouth lifting back into a smile.

"Don't underestimate me, Blue," Nike murmured. He placed his fingers together thoughtfully and leaned forwards. "I was also invited onto the Council. If Claret hadn't raised an objection on a technicality, I would be sitting where you are now, and you would be on the far end of the table with Jordan. You're not even technically a Council member." He'd only learned that a few hours previously, but Blue didn't need to know that.

"Well, you're right about that, but I don't know about sharing a corner with Jordan. Actually, I'm pretty sure Jordan's pimp will come after me if I set my handsome ass on his territory," Blue said.

A messy strand of hair slid into Nike's face and he blew it away.

"I don't like Jordan much," Minerva said unexpectedly. Something about the way she said it sounded less like an admission and more like stating purpose. "He was the one whose idea it was to award me… my particular programs. He and the Doctor collaborated."

Blue nodded sagely. "Yeah. I've heard that really sucked, being sent to Doc for alchemy mods without having a second consciousness to share the strain with. Not that I'd know. Jordan's a nasty piece of work, though, for a fruitcake." He yawned and stood up, stretching agilely. "I should get going," he said.

"No," Nike said without turning. "Stay a while."

Blue looked down at him in consideration, then shot a final glance at Minerva before shrugging and folding onto the ground a next to them. In the silence that followed, Nike felt a strange twinge of unfamiliar emotion. They weren't quite companion, but they were becoming something better, something much more powerful. They were becoming _accomplices_.

An unlikely trio, decidedly. Nike wouldn't fault them for that. They were skilled, and more importantly, they were blessedly _silent_.

Behind them all, the craterous volcano, long inactive, shuddered with anticipation, sending a distant spill of sheet rock tumbling off a sheer cliff face.

0o0o0o0End chapter0o0o0o0

AN: Argon, like the 18th element? It sort of sounds like Aragorn from Lord of the Rings, though… I might have to change it. Bah. Chemistry.

Er… and as for Blue hating on Jordan for being a steaming piece of stereotypico de pompous man ho, well, not my own opinions.

Next Chapter: "Please," her voice was trembling with barely controlled tears. "You don't understand. The lines might not be secure. Just, please, _hurry_."

Also:

"Important military secrets," Blue yawned. "Very hush-hush, you know." Smith looked like she was about to pop a gasket. (Yes, a section narrated by Blue.)


	14. Chapter 14, Ergo

Recommended music: Modest Mouse, Whale Song

Recommended beverage: Espresso (especially if you're Sesame. Expect that girl to fall asleep at many inopportune moments. That is not what she said. Shut up, my brain!)

**C **h a p t e r **1 **4

**E**r g o

0o0o0o0

Blue hated AMN more than he could properly describe. That was the point of his name. Blue. "Get it?" He'd asked mostly everyone on the council. "Like the series by Picasso?" He'd gotten blank looks. Claret, in particular, had looked at him like he was raving. "I was an art history major in college," he had muttered, dejected. "Forget it."

Still, the more opportunities he had to get the hell out of there, the better. So when Nike asked him to go out and intercept a couple of his buddies on a mission to Ex-Imp Land, well, it was a convenient excuse to stretch his legs a little.

He glanced at his wrist, impatient. God, Nike's friends should have at least had the courtesy to show up on time, even if they had no idea he was meeting them. In his spare time, he loaded his gun with fourteen tiny blast pellets. He hated having to do that, too.

A few years back, before the war, having any magic at all would have given him a huge advantage in almost anything. There were some rumors that amongst the council, who were all born naturally with magic, they'd raised billions of dollars in private, underground enterprises amongst themselves, even little Sesame. Nowadays, he needed all the mechanical help he could get, from the spring activation assists in his knees to the crappy, standard issue smuggler's gun in his hands.

"Hey, Blue?" Speak of the devil. Blue turned around to see Sesame stumbling along up the deserted street behind him. She was wearing shoes, converse high tops, which was unusual, and she had a gas mask fixed over the lower half of her face, but he could still tell when she yawned widely. "I'm bored."

"Yeah?" He said. "Well it sucks to be you."

She pouted and tugged on the sleeve of his shirt. "But I got you a present. Her hand disappeared into her pocket briefly, then she pulled out three human teeth, bleached to perfection.

Blue wrinkled his nose. Sesame was seriously the most fucked up person he had ever met. Damn it, why'd she have to be such a little kid? She blinked up at him, obviously looked for his approval. He rolled his eyes. "What, you pull those out yourself?"

"No. We took in a few humans this afternoon from Prague to test for radiation burn. They were all heroin addicts. I told one of the guys in withdrawal that there were trackers in his teeth, and he tore them out himself." She tilted her head slightly to the side. "Claret's been teaching me economy. The drug market has stayed open, trafficking drugs for longer distances than almost any other network. The mafia is used to working without government help in dangerous conditions. They've branched out from drugs, too. They're the only carriers of whole goods in most of Northern Europe."

"Huh, is that right? Kid, you are creep-tastic." He sighed. "If you go back to the pod, I'll teach you how to play poker when we get back."

"I already know that," she said. "Grey taught me."

Right. Grey. He was a bit of a head case. Blue liked kids because he'd never really been one. Grey… he just couldn't figure out. He hated weakness, usually.

"Alright. Then I'll teach you how to cheat at poker. If you promise not to tell anyone we came here, I'll promise not to tell Grey you're cheating. And I'll throw in a Sinatra record."

Sesame's eyes lit. "Deal!"

"Good. Now you've got your fill, go wait in the pod like a good little anaconda. Maybe I'll bring back a carcass for you to swallow."

She skipped up to him, stood on her tip toes to kiss his chin- or at least the air very close too- and then took off back down the path, towards the pod. Sesame was nothing like he was as a kid. She hated lying, she just couldn't help herself. She'd get antsy in maybe 18 minutes, and come looking for him.

It was weird. He'd been in the mafia when he was just fourteen. Unwittingly, but still. He'd killed kids her age without hesitation, snot nosed, crying children, four dusty boys on the streets of Darfur and a frightened little aristocrat with black hair cropped short to her head while she was crouched on her bed, holding a handgun but too afraid to use it. The boys had stolen from his boss, but the girl had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, at her safe house in Brussels during her parent's uprising in Moscow. He didn't feel guilty about that. Her parents had practically invites death into their home, joining a militia. Stupid idiots.

The hushed sound of lifters came from his left, and he turned and began making his way down a street that led in that direction, moving as quickly as he could. He was still in a residential area, and all these houses looked the same, like one big Levittown, but made of mud and blackened old stone and full of foul smelling muck. It was gross. He ducked between two huts adorned with gargoyles and glimpsed the source of the noise. It was an armored pod with empty canon holsters. Seriously? What did they think armor was going to do against a viral attack?

He was dealing the amateurs, clearly.

With that in mind, he stepped out from his hiding place and into the open area where they had landed.

The four of them turned to look at him in eerie unison.

0o0o0o0

Holly's eyes flashed over to the human who had appeared at the edge of the pod dock and felt the lack of her helmet instantly. She whipped out her gun and had it pointed at his head before she had time to properly see him. When she did, she was surprised again. What was it with AMN and sending kids? First Artemis, then the two Guards of Sound, now this one. He was kind of tall, skinny, Asian, with his hair spiked up and streaked with brown.

He had a gun at the waistband of his pants, camouflage cargo pants tucked into lace up boots but with a patterned T-shirt on top that read, 'Yeah, I hit it,' and had a picture of a fire hydrant and a smashed car. His hands were tucked in his pockets. He gave an exasperated grin and pulled them out in an obvious show of peace.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "You got me." He paused, and his eyes flashed over the line of them, suddenly considering. Holly's finger twitched on the trigger, but all he did was point at each of them in turn.

"No, no, no…" his finger finally rested on her, and he took a moment to cock his head to the side, then sighed. "And no."

"'No,' what?" Foaly asked from behind them. He didn't sound the least bit frightened.

The kid rolled his eyes. "No, I wouldn't do," he said. "Duh. Haven't you ever played?"

"Played what?" Root asked.

"Who would you do? It's a game. You have to say _who you'd do_. And I wouldn't do any of you. I mean, no offence, but I'm not into dudes, and miss prissy pistol is a little short for me." He winced. "I'd feel like I was doing a little kid, you know? Gross. And, I mean, your nose is kind of small. And your shoulders are kind of pointy and-"

"Enough!" Holly snapped, irritated. "Who are you?"

The boy looked surprised by the question, and he tilted his head back, eyes going up to the sky. "I'm Blue," he said.

"Are you from AMN?"

"Duh."

"Blue. Are you a guard?"

"What? No way. I'm one of the people the guards are guarding."

Holly pointed her 3000 at his feet and fired.

He moved fast- before the round could hit him, he had darted out of the way and scrambled up onto the roof of the building behind him, taking a defensive crouch. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm an ally, okay? You people have it all wrong."

Holly took aim again calmly. "AMN is not our ally."

"Yeah, but _I am_. Or I'm _trying_ to be."

"You have a gun."

"So do you. And yours is pointing at me."

Holly considered for a moment, remembering what had happened last time she'd faced a guard and lowered her gun, then sent a quick, question look in Root's direction. He gave her a little nod, and she flicked the safety back on and tucked her gun into her belt, just like Blue's was. Despite how quickly he moved, she was sure she could draw faster. If she'd really been trying, she probably could have hit him earlier, too.

Foaly clattered forward across the cobble stones and sniffed. "You're free to come down any time, you know. We have questions that might be easier to answer on level ground."

Blue stared at him for a moment with an unreadable expression, then rubbed the back of his neck and stepped off the edge of the roof, landing softly on the ground. Holly recognized some hint of Artemis in his movements.

"I've got to admit," he muttered. "Seeing a dude with a horse for a behind is freaky. I mean, I've just go to ask: how doyou do it?"

Dippet huffed an appalled sigh and put his hands on his hips. "What is this, the comic relief?"

"You have no idea," Blue said, rolling his eyes. "It's a nut house over there. You should see them when- wait, no. We should probably talk business. I have a couple things I need to tell you, and some other things I guess I'm supposed to imply… ugh." He rubbed the back of his head again, thinking. "You want to tell me your names, or should I just make stuff up?"

"I'm Captain Root," said Root. "This is Vice Captain Short, Doctor Dippet, and General Foaly."

"A General?" Blue whistled. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. And all the rest of you, I guess."

"Why are you here?" Dippet asked. Holly had never heard him get defensive about his title as a doctor, but he sounded it just then.

"I told you," Blue said. "I'm here because Nike- ah, the kid you called Artemis- sent me."

Holly incorporated that knowledge into herself with a slow blink. Artemis, goddess of the hunt. Nike, the goddess of success. It was funny, that his name should carry so much meaning.

"Do you always do what Nike tells you to?" Dippet raised an eyebrow.

Blue didn't even attempt to answer. "Mostly, though, I'm here to do research. And help you guys do research. The library's in that direction."

"They have a library?" Foaly asked, clearly fascinated. "I always thought demons were rather primitive people."

"Yeah," Blue muttered. "I'm not surprised."

"What?" Holly, who was standing closest to him, caught his whisper.

He sighed and tapped his foot. "Nike probably wouldn't mind me telling you, but I'd rather not."

Holly new better than to press any more in that direction. "Why?" She asked instead.

"Because you're still loyal to your government, right? AMN is going to be fighting them. And I'm still loyal to humanity, even though I'm on your side." He gestured with his hand and turned off towards the center of the city. "Come on," he said. "This way."

Foaly followed him immediately, utterly unafraid. Dippet appeared frozen underneath his magnificent, utterly disgusted, wide-eyed grimace. Root looked to Holly- he was always doing that nowadays, like the more she allowed for his advice, the more he sought hers. She stepped up next to him, and Dippet followed behind reluctantly.

The library was a tiny, gritty building between the dumpsters of town hall. It looked like it was new, but already undergoing heavy use. There was a little box out from for depositing books which, by the look of it, somebody had shoved a sandwich into. The front doors were chained shut, but Blue pulled a knife from his pocket that cut through the steal like a tiny vibra-saw. The doors fell open, and the smell of paper glue and old parchment and dust sighed from between the wooden panels.

"Yeah," Blue said. "Er… here's the thing. I can basically tell you what you need to know. As far as I can tell, most of these books are gonna be pretty useless, except for the one that I need."

Holly's spine chilled. "Why did you bring us here?"

Blue frowned, kicked the ground, and shuffled his feet. He mumbled something.

"What?" Foaly asked, sounding delighted with himself. "I can't here you over the sounds of your budding puberty."

"I can't use the card catalogue, okay?" Blue said finally. "It's written in foreign. I can't even begin to translate it."

Foaly laughed out loud. It occurred to Holly abruptly that they were in the middle of a massacred village, and that maybe he was over compensating. It was like seeing his old self again. "Who knew AMN was this funny? I'll do it for you, but tell us what you know, first."

"Hey, why do I have to go first?"

"You don't exactly have a stellar history of honesty now, do you?"

"Yeah, yeah, okay." But he looked pleased. "But I'm going to need the book to explain."

Root gave a tired sigh. "I should have guessed. Foaly, why don't you go ahead and do it? We've really got nothing to gain by denying him."

"Alright," Foaly put his hands up in the air and grinned. "Since you all asked so nicely." He walked ahead of them into the room, which was spacious and much nicer than it looked from the outside. The floor and walls were marble, and the ceiling was held up by towering pillars. Root nudged her side and flicked his eyes to staircase leading down. Next to stairs there is a sign that shows that the building has four floors, three of them underground.

"It's a book of maps. It's by someone whose name is pronounced… uh… Granuarga Narkuar."

Dippet snorted. "Terrible name, even for a demon."

Foaly found a card cabinet behind the front desk, which was unlocked. He flicked through a couple of drawers, then finally pulled out a little slip of paper with a code on it. "It's this floor," he announced. "Back of the room."

It took a few minutes of searching, but he finally pulled a very large, blue bound atlas from the shelf. It was a bit of a struggle to get it onto a table, but Blue, over eager and bright eyed, helped, and they had it in the middle of the table and open to the contents pretty quickly. Holly leaned over to see, and her eyes widened.

She reached out a hand and, using all the strength in her back, flipped the thing shut.

"Vice Captain-" Dippet started, startled, but she interrupted him.

"No," she said. "These are maps of Haven. No." She pulled out her gun. She didn't like the idea of burning books, but she was prepared to do it if it meant protecting the folk.

"Wait," Blue said, holding up his hands. "Hold on a second. You know AMN has the technology to get this information easily, right? My superiors already know all this. I'm… kind of part of a rebellion." He stopped, drumming his fingers nervously. "My superiors probably already know that, and I'm already a bit of an outsider there, so I'm here to see these maps and try to figure out some way to help you guys, okay? If I'm going to help you, I have to know what my orders pertain to in the bigger picture. I don't even know what we're planning, I can only know pieces of it. I hardly know more than you. Because whatever you know, whatever I know, they know."

"What, can they…" Holly struggled to find a solution, but could only think of the ridiculous, "read minds?"

Blue shrugged uncomfortably. "Something like that. It's not that simple. Just don't worry about it, okay? It won't affect you while fighting. Trust me on this."

"Holly," Root said softly. "Maybe we should just go with it. He's not lying about the technology part, at least."

Holly paused, then, for the second time in about an hour, conceded to replace her gun in its sheath without firing.

Blue didn't for several second with his eyebrows raised, and Holly realized he was waiting for permission. He was a genius, after all. He might already know how much that gesture got to her. She nodded anyways and tried to force down the slight, pleased reaction that threatened to spread on her face, but damn it, it was kind of nice to be deferred to after being batted down by her superior officer in front of a possible enemy, even if said deference came from said possible enemy… She really, really tried not to feel it, but there it was.

Blue flipped open the book and began paging through maps. They started out general, the geography of Ireland, underground river systems, hollows and natural reserve wares of water and minerals. Holly noticed that the volcano wasn't on the map, so it must have been very old, from about the time Hybras went into Limbo. Then Blue turned the page, and she had a moment of confusion.

It was an overhead map of Haven, almost exactly as it was now. The mountains had changed, but the layout of the city hadn't, much. She scanned the map, curious to see what Blue might be getting at. She was disappointed.

"It looks… pretty much like it does now," Foaly said from behind her, also examining the map curiously. Holly glanced at Root. Root was watching Blue intently. Holly blinked in surprise, then thanked him silently for his vigilance.

Blue nodded thoughtfully. "I was counting on that. Let's see…" He placed his finger on the bottom of the map. "This is the Goblin District, right? It used to be beside the volcano, but it was recently shifted to the opposite side."

"Something about a water leak…" Holly recalled faintly.

"And it's smaller, nowadays," Blue mused.

"Fertility rates have been down," Dippet said.

"Hm," Blue tilted his head back to meet Dippet's eyes. "Are you aware of when the first Goblin Rebellion occurred?"

Dippet shrugged. "Sometimes around 1650? Probably right before the new district was built."

Blue looked at him intently, then drew his finger down from the little foot note symbol at the end of the location name to the bottom of the page.

"General," he said, "will you read for us?"

"Of course. The language is a bit archaic. I'll try to bring it up to speed, but bear in mind that this isn't an exact translation." Foaly leaned over and began to read. "The walls around the eastern goblin district were erected in- the equivalent of about 2000 years ago- at an order from King Richard. Conditions here are unfavorable for other folk, as the air is rich in geothermic minerals and known to reach extreme temperatures. A drain in the middle of the lowest section of the district would later be used as a drain after the fires of the- approximately 1000 year old- rebellion were extinguished."

Root glanced over at Blue as Foaly fell silent. "So the rebellions are older than we though. I don't-"

"They aren't just older," Foaly said. "They're probably 1600 years old, if this book is 600 years old. They are way older."

"Still wrong," Blue said, rolling his eyes. "You're thinking like you've been taught to think. If the rebellions started after the first wall was built, why was the first wall built to begin with? In other words," he said, with the air of a college professor recounting his own college thesis, "they're _younger_ than they should be."

Holly tilted her head, staring down at the map. "Just because it doesn't say here, there could have been rebellions beforehand. Goblins are a warlike by nature."

"And what better way to decrease warlike tendencies than to luck up a bunch of criminals without trial. Yeah, real promising. Doll, do they even teach history down in Haven, or do you just watch movies from America in the 50's? Down with the communists! Ban the red devil!"

Holly scowled. "What are you saying? That the King had alternative motives? Maybe he was afraid of their militaristic powers?"

Blue tapped his fingers, suddenly business like. "No. No. I'm working on a hypothesis, okay? Tell me, is it common for elves to breed with pixies?"

"What? No."

"But it is possible."

Holly thought of the Fuehrer. "Yes."

"Then, by standards of taxonomy, different kinds of faeries are just races. Superficial separation based on appearance. Correct?"

Root shrugged. "Taxonomy is a human study. It doesn't encompass faerie complexities."

"Yeah, maybe not," Blue muttered. He reached up and messed up his hair, rearranging the spikes into new and fascinating disarray. "But if I'm right, this could be pretty crazy, couldn't it?"

Holly made a frustrated sound. "I don't get it," she said. "If you're such a genius, just say what you're trying to say already."

"Does you centaur get it? I heard he was smart."

Foaly tilted his head back and tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. "You little liar," he said. "You're trying to over complicate this, aren't you? All this means is that our government has tried to cover something up, or is capable or lying, or has possibly just… forgotten something. Something to do with the segregation of the goblins."

"Big surprise," Dippet muttered.

Root gave Holly a tense look. "All governments have secrets," he said. "It's yours that I'm interested in right now."

"Yeah, I guess." Blue shrugged. "I was just wondering what you would say, really. So sue me. But you know, you faeries talk an enormous amount of shit. Your society kind of reminds me of Fascist Italy. It's all about segregation. Different races from one another, men from women. And anyone who isn't in your society- I'm thinking of humans- is considered somehow lesser. And then, you've convinced yourself that you won the war between humans and faeries."

Root stiffened just slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said. Just… think about it, yeah? Connect the dots. Disappeared clan. Humans. Magic. That stupid ass book. And don't let anyone near the volcano- or at least, not many people."

He reached towards his gun, but Holly was faster. She had her 3000 trained on his face instantly, but stopped just short of firing. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn't make any other move. She wasn't sure why she wasn't shooting. She knew it would be the smart thing to do, shoot while she had the advantage, before he could attack. But she had to think more than that. What was his power, if everyone at AMN could use magic? Was he as anxious about killing someone at point blank range as she was?

Beside her, she heard Root's gun humming to life, his big 4000 heating the air. Her rifle was battery powered. His was plasma powered. It needed to vent heat.

She took a deep breath, trying to identify the source for her own anxiety, and was surprised when she found it. "The two women in New York… Speed. Did you bury them?"

Blue looked at her curiously. For the first time, he seemed startled. Then he smiled very slightly and shook his head. "Artemis was right about you," he said softly. "You are… different. The five of you… the five of you might have something."

He glanced up, and his brown eyes flashed slightly in the dusty, filtered light of the library. "Unluckily for you, I definitely have something."

From the door came a thin, reedy voice. "Blue? I tried to stay at the pod, but I got bored." Holly blinked in shock. Her eyes slid past Blue to the door.

Her gun dropped from her numb fingers, and she hit the floor with an 'oof.'

It was a little girl, a sleepy little girl with big brow curls, wearing a bathrobe. There was a gas mask in place over her mouth, but it was slipping down onto her neck. She had her arms wrapped around a stuffed horse, and she was swaying on her feet, obviously exhausted. The horse was peculiarly realistic, for a fake animal, Holly thought, narrowing her eyes, then realized with a sick jolt that its skin was leather, its legs thin and wrinkled, its eyes replaced with glass. Not a stuffed animal at all. It was the preserved, taxidermy corpse of a small foal.

But even clutching the demonic toy, it was still just a little girl in the doorway. Holly looked into her face, and she saw Emmet.

"Blue?" The little girl said, blinking rapidly. "Who are they?"

"Go," Holly whispered, voice raw and harsh. "You've won. Just… just get the _hell_ out of here. And take… that… with you."

Blue nodded. "You got it. Oh, and to answer your question, Holly: Speed is still alive. I mean, they're angry as hell, or at last one of them is, but yeah. Alive and kicking."

"Holly-" Foaly started, but Blue had already flashed a peace sign and turned to leave. Root kept his gun trained on Blue's back, but didn't fire. Blue reached the door, put a hand gently on the little girl's arm, murmured something none of them could hear, and tugged her away by the hand. She stumbled after him without looking back, eyes glued amorously to the back of his head.

Dippet walked over to the door and leaned on the jam.

"They're just walking away," he said, bemused. "You're okay with that?"

Root met Holly's eyes for a long moment. He cocked an eyebrow just slightly, mouth serious. _Are you okay?_ He asked silently. She ducked her head, hoping he would understand. _I don't know. Ask me again later._

She almost felt his abrupt snap back to formality, his military boots clicking over the ground.

"Well," he said. "Foaly. You seem to be the best able to keep up with what's going on here. What do you think?"

Holly glanced up out of the corner of her eyes. She was ashamed, but she didn't feel quite ready to stand up yet. She had to see what Foaly would say to a compliment given by Root, though. Foaly's eyes went a little wide and he waved his hands. "Keep up? Hardly. If we were dealing with anyone else, I'd have them figured out, but this is AMN. They could already be two steps ahead."

"Just tell us what you think, Foaly," Root said, looking thoroughly irritated.

Foaly grinned. "Blue isn't as strong as you think he is. He's clever, that much is obvious, but he had to bring a gun, and an accomplice. He was facing me- basically a glorified computer technician, a doctor, a pacifist, and you, Root."

"You're still a general, tech-head," Holly said softly, then frowned. "And I'm not a pacifist."

Foaly nodded. "True." He didn't say what he was agreeing to. "Maybe that's why he brought the girl. She is strong."

Holly knew what she had felt looking at her, but wondering if there was a better explanation, she asked, "How do you know?"

"Just the way she stood," he shrugged. "She must have known this was enemy territory- she wasn't at all irritated by the smell of dead bodies- but she didn't bother bringing anything to protect herself, not even from a physical attack. Not even shoes. She's utterly confident."

Holly blinked slowly. AMN had certainly been busy making monsters lately.

She thought about what Blue had said, though, honestly thought about it. "Root…" She muttered. "Who _did_ write The Book?"

He opened his mouth to reply, but a mechanical, disjointed song cut him off. All of them went silent, staring at his pocket in confusion. Holly recognized the shape of his civilian cell phone. Root glanced around, and she knew what he was thinking. Everyone who usually called him was already in the room. He pulled out his phone and flipped it open, turning on the speakers discretely.

"Hello?"

Someone on the other end of the line was breathing harshly in rough, grating bursts that closely resembled crying. "Captain Root?" It took Holly a moment to place the voice.

"Speaking," Root replied.

"It's Elizabeth B-Bloom." Her voice broke sharply, and there were a few moments of wet breathing before she tried again. "I n-need to talk to y-you. This line might… might not be safe." She let loose a ragged, hiccupping sob, and her voice lowered, trembling, damp, desperate. "Please," she moaned. "Please, we're all in danger."

"Calm down," Root said softly. "Tell me what you know."

"C-can't," she said again. "The lines… I don't know about civilian lines, but they m-might be tapped too. I… I know what I forgot. Tell Short I remember. Tell the Vice Captain that I… Oh god, please hurry."

Root covered the mouth piece and looked up at Holly. Holly shrugged helplessly. Ice was spreading through her core. "She forgot something important the day Artemis left," she said.

Root's eyes flashed and he lowered his hand. "Hold on, Elizabeth, we're coming. I'll meet you when we get down there. Listen- I need you to make sure Emmet's safe. Evaluate the situation and do what you think is best."

"Okay," she whispered. There was the sound of heavy sniffing and a brief burst of static. "Okay. Hurry."

"Good bye, Bloom."

All she managed in response was, "Mm." She hung up immediately after.

Root snapped his phone shut. "Let's go."

0o0o0o0

By the time Blue and Sesame got back to AMN, Sesame was asleep again. Blue trusted himself to convince her that the people she'd seen had only been a dream. She did have a lot of trouble telling dreams from reality. It came with her ability, he supposed. She slept maybe 18 hours a day, and was usually exhausted the other six, so most of her experiences were either dreams or dream-like.

In any case, she wouldn't be waking up for a while, so he knew it was probably his job to carry her back to her room. Or at least back to the Council room, which was a lot closer, and probably empty, what with the invasion only hours away. He hefted her up bridal style, leaving her creepy horse behind. Wasn't she kind of old for stuffed animals? Oh, screw it. He was too old for his skin _and_ his attitude. Didn't stop him from flaunting it.

She was light. It wasn't even an effort to run up a couple flights of stairs to get from the pod chamber to the main hallway. Getting through the main hallway, on the other hand, was a challenge. The big, domed passageway was designed to be an impressively unpleasant, lonesome kind of place, with floors that echoed and steadily dripping water down the walls like a worm hole.

It was fittingly morbid, but kind of funny that the council was apparently so vain that they'd built an underground cathedral just on the off chance that someone feeling guilty might someday walk through it. It was Claret's idea. Everything with her was show business, twenty-four seven. She was one of the oldest. She was also kind of a bitch.

Now, the hall was crowded. Guards were standing in clusters, talking too loud, excited for the coming cut throat. They didn't know that the approaching battle was what they had been made for, although most of them had figured it out. They didn't care that they were lining up to die, outnumbered hundreds to one. What was it? Ennui?

Blue paused to eyeball a pretty dark skinned woman. He knew she was named Ester. Her younger sister, the Guard of Form, was very powerful, and was discussed frequently in Council meetings. It was Blue's job to know every guard in AMN more intimately than they knew themselves. Ester would like the company. Her younger sister had a habit of cornering her while she was alone and sticking needles in her stomach. Gross, but the stronger guards were promised free rein over the weaker ones, and when you hand someone a whip, they'll use it. Particularly after a mad scientist has cut out all of their human emotions.

Blue was about to start making his way over- he'd been more than good enough lately to disserve a reward, practically angelic, really, and that girl's uniform was tight as fuck, kind of like everyone else's- when a hand caught his arm. He glanced over questioningly, and found himself face to face with Smith. Her eyes were narrowed.

"Hold onto your hats, Huston," he muttered.

She frowned. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he said. "Was there something you wanted?" He paused for a moment, and then frowned as something occurred to him. "Hold up, how come you get to ask me for things? I'm a member of the council. Shouldn't I be asking you for things? We've got a problem here. The inmates are running the prison! Run! Everyone, before you get raped!"

The Ester must have heard him, because she glanced over, grabbed a very handsome young man with black hair who'd been standing next to her by the forearm- Li, his name was- and slunk off into the crowd. Damn, he was short sighted. Blue spent a moment cursing himself, then resolved to forgive and forget. Life would be pretty groovy for the next few hours. He'd have more than enough time to pick up some other chick.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, on that vain of thinking.

Smith didn't let go of his arm. "Where were you?" She asked.

Blue sighed, sensing that he wasn't going to get out of this without exchanging a few words. "Importantly military secrets," he yawned pointedly. "Very hush-hush, you know." He winked and nudged her in the side.

She flushed with anger. That was new. Smith was kind of known for having a piece of ice shoved up her ass, but that wasn't quite accurate. With an expression on her face, she was a little bit pretty. He spent a moment arguing with himself, then fucked it all. "Hey, you want to settle this in my room after I drop Sesame off? It's like, a thousand times better than yours. I have a Jacuzzi."

Smith looked like she was about to pop a gasket. She dropped his arm and rubbed her hand furiously her uniform. Predictable. He was a little disappointed. People hardly ever surprised him. In his arms, Sesame shifted slightly. Not a good place for a fight, not that Smith would do anything to anger the actual council.

Blue scowled. Guards like Smith tended to treat him like a joke. If anyone else on the council had asked, he was sure she would have said yes, just on principle. She'd certainly said yes to the Doctor.

He took a deep breath. "You and Grey ready?"

She nodded stiffly. "Yes."

"Has Blondie talked to you at all?"

"Rot has not been in contact with either of us."

Blue thought of washed out eyes and frightened, little girl wrists and thought, for the first time, that the Doctor's gift to Minerva had not been poetic justice, it had been disgusting.

"I heard you broke her hands," he said, then met Smith's eyes with a sly smile. "Do you have strong feelings of aggression towards her? Or do you just feel like you have to prove you aren't who she thinks you could be?"

Smith jerked like she'd been slapped, stared at him for a moment like she would like nothing better than to sink her accessorized, metal reinforced fingers into his stomach and tear out his gallbladder. For a moment, he hoped she would. Break Minerva's hands? Ha. He could one up that any day. He'd cut off her fingers and choke her with them.

But them Smith narrowed her eyes and turned away abruptly. Her heals clacked away with militant precision.

"Strike two, and you're out," Sesame muttered in his arms. "No cake for you."

Blue looked down at her and raised his eyebrows. "Christ, kid. What I would give to live inside your brain for, like, five minutes."

0o0o0o0


	15. Chapter 15, War

**C **h a p t e r **1 **5

**W **a r

0o0o0o0

"You did what?" The Fuehrer's eyes bore into Elizabeth's, glowing silver, terrifying. She clenched her teeth and glanced behind his back at General Foaly, who had stayed in the room with her while she explained what Artemis Fowl, legendary human trickster, had done to her.

Or what she had done to everyone else.

He raised an eyebrow in indication that she should continue, and she looked away.

"I turned off the alarm system. No… I destroyed the alarm system. The evacuation system, public alert lines, parallel plasma conductors, control over the overhead supports, everything."

The Fuehrer stared at her for a long moment. She turned her head down and squeezed her eyes shut. There was nothing familiar to focus on in his office.

"You can do that?" He asked. "There aren't any safety measures?"

"I'm very good with computers, Sir," she said.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I dismantled the city's protection with little to no difficulty."

There was a long silence, then she chanced a glanced upwards. The Fuehrer was looking down at her strangely.

"Remind me to give you a promotion when this is all over, if we survive."

Elizabeth's brief, instinctive surprised was instantly eclipsed by gut twisting fear.

"Survive what?" General Foaly asked.

"What's coming," Elizabeth whispered.

0o0o0

Everyone got the same briefing that afternoon, containing an explanation of AMN (taken right out of Foaly's report), the failing alarm system, and the first signs of an attack coming towards Haven. At 9:30 am, all observations points suddenly registered a large, blank circle closing quickly around their location. Before that time, the camera's registered nothing. For the second time that week, the government was whipped into a fury.

"They could be anywhere," Root heard a young Private say. "We can only see what they want us to see."

It was a chilling thought at first, but after three hours of sitting around listening to people worrying about it, he was growing used to the idea. So they can see me, he thought. So what? There's nothing to see here, really. We don't have any grand plans for them to overhear.

The Weapons Department was assigning branches weapons as quickly as possible. A few generals had been called away for a war meeting. Foaly wasn't one of them. Parliament was in an uproar, but under the 4th, the Fuehrer was free to do as he pleased without consulting them. Dispatches were being sent out to every remote corner of Haven, trying to get people alert and ready to mobilize, but it wasn't easy. There was nowhere to go.

When it all boiled down to it, Haven wasn't a fortress. It was a prison. Why had anyone ever thought retreating underground was a good idea? They'd built themselves into to perfect position for annihilation.

He closed his eyes and leaned back into his desk chair. He had no use for his computer, or the updates that an orderly was shouting every five minutes from the door way. He needed to think. Either they had some kind of secret defense, or they were going to have to blow the roof in. No. His nose wrinkled. The alarm system was out, and the control of the structural supports was gone. Would Elizabeth be able to fix it in time?

He opened his eyes. She'd dispatched the program in a matter of hours. She was probably… probably as smart as Foaly, honestly. She could do it. Still, it made him nervous. If Artemis had wanted to, he could have killed have easily taken out the entire Tech division. Haven's safety was that fragile.

He snorted very softly. "So we did lose," he muttered. It made sense that this- their vulnerability- would be part of any post-war treaty. That's how treaties usually went. The winner wanted to humiliate the loser, to punish them, but also to guarantee their own safety afterwards. Root had studied war. He understood it. Now he understood why a country that had lived without war for thousands of years had a military government.

"Root!" Root's eyes snapped open and he met the fierce gaze of an orderly leaning over his computer. "Sir!"

"Yes?"

"Phone call from Foaly!"

Root winced. "You don't have to shout," he muttered. The orderly didn't even blink, only handed him the phone. Root accepted it. "Foaly?"

"Julius. Ah. The roof is going to come down."

"I thought so. When?"

"A as soon as the Tech team is able to bring back up the alarm and security system."

Root nodded, not caring that Foaly couldn't see it. "When will evacuations start?"

"They won't."

Root was silent for a long moment, staring at the dark computer screen in front of him, checking the space behind him. "How do you know AMN isn't going to push the roof in on us before we have the chance to trap them?"

"There has been some… intelligence."

"From who?"

Foaly gave a dry laugh. "I'd forgotten. The government we work for is tricky. Apparently, the captive from last week wasn't quiet as tight lipped as we were told. He was afraid of spiders. We was also probably going to die from the bite marks hidden under his clothes in just a few hours anyways, before you and Holly showed up. If everything goes as planned, guards are basically going to be released to slaughter every man, woman, and child living in Haven without any real order or strategy."

"Afraid of spiders," Root almost smiled. "The greatest enemy of the folk, possibly the designers of World War III, afraid of a creature at most ten inches long."

"It's a basic animal instinct in some people." Foaly sounded uncomfortable. "He happened to have arachnophobia. The only people who were told were the old, immobile Generals who had no chance of being captured."

"Foaly," Root said slowly. "Are you afraid of spiders?"

"What? No!" This meant yes, obviously.

Root grinned, reveling in his new discovery. Root: 1. Foaly: 0. Just the way it should be.

Except that they might both be dead by the morning.

"Is that all?" He asked.

"No. Someone ruined the pod lines. AMN troops are advancing along them."

"We already kind of knew that," Root muttered.

Foaly shrugged. "It's none of our business who did it, really."

Root nodded, wondering. Captain. That was what he was. It was finally time to prove his worth."

"I'll be on the front lines, of course," he said. "I have experience fighting guards."

"Nah," Foaly said. "I'm going to request all of you for a private squadron."

Root smiled softly. "Ah. Are we…?"

"We're going to keep everyone off that volcano."

"Are you-" Root paused, frowning. "Do you hear-?"

There was a great, terrible cracking sound. It crept from his far left, and shook gradually closer until it was directly over head, like thunder, rustling. Root froze. The room around him fell silent, and then a boom that shook the floor slammed into the building, making the light flicker. It was deafening. Root yelped with pain and slammed his hand to his ear, and then brought it down, staring at his palm in disbelief. His eardrums were bleeding.

Without thinking, he dropped the phone and started running towards the windows on the wall towards the sound, jumping over desks and pushing through the stunned crowd. A few officers shook themselves and started to follow him, there feat a frantic pattern behind him.

His boots crunched over broken glass as he approached the jagged remains of the windows, spikes clinging here and there to otherwise empty frames from the floor to the ceiling. Outside, he could see the city and hear faintly over the ringing in his ears, the sound of home security alarms trilling. He was close to forty stories off the ground, but he walked up to the edge of the floor and looked straight down. People bellow poured out into the streets, all staring at the same thing. Beyond the building, beyond the edge of the city, where the massive west wall rose, bearing a fake, digital likeness of a horizon and sky, a huge crack had appeared. Spider web cracks shot out of it at angles, up onto the dome, dividing the fake sky all the way to the building where Root was standing and sending showers of rock debris and dust raining down into the streets.

Root squinted strait up, trying to see better. Behind him, the other officers were slowly pressing closer, at once drawn in by fascination and numbed by dumb horror.

In the west, the crack was thick and dark. Root guessed it was about a hundred meters across. In the shadows, he could see something was moving. A pale shape grew, a slight crescent, like a maggot, and then emerged, floating a few hundred yards above most of the building in the residential suburb on the outer rim of the city. Like a swarm of bees, a mass of white shapes bubbled out of the crack behind it, fanning out along the wall, thick as froth.

"It's started," Root whispered.

Then there was an explosion to the east, and Root saw a dozen brilliant blue jets of flame go soaring towards the pods.

0o0o0o0

Holly didn't know where her Captain was. She'd tried to explain that was a problem to Major General Ro, but Ro hadn't even glanced her way, only continued to shout orders.

"Move!" a major whose name she didn't know had hissed at her. "You're a vice captain, you can act in his place. Move!"

So she did. Which was how she ended up under Ro's command, outside a big state bank, slack jawed with amazement.

Twenty war machines unfolded from the ground around building like trees growing in fast motion, shaking off dirt. They stood as high as the building on six splayed legs, many jointed, insect-like. The main bodies were roughly circular, thickly armored, and bobbed up and down slightly, as though they were trying to gain there bearings. Most of the bodies were made of thick, clear armor-plastic, with big metal shields floating along tracks on the surface, ready to converge and protect one area or another if they were fired at. Even the bottom was almost totally plastic, in case anything got between the pod's legs. The machine's two great eyes stared down at her, enormous black cannon barrels. Moisture hissed off the engines as they started to heat up. A soft shower of dirt and clumps of weedy grass fell to the ground, and a ladder unfurled after them.

"Okay," Ro said. "We're taking the first four of these out. I'll be leading from number 3." Holly found number 3 and memorized the patterns on the metal. "I want Colonel Fan on 1, Colonel Archer on 2, and Lieutenant Colonel Foster and Vice Captain Short on 4."

Holly felt a shock clench her stomach. "What?"

Ro turned intense blue eyes on her. She had always been one of the most intimidating Generals, and now she looked ready to cut limb from body with the mere force of her gaze. "A Lieutenant Colonel can't captain a drafter alone. You help him. Not another word, Short. The rest of you, split up evenly and climb in!"

Obedience was instantaneous. Holly was quick, she got the ladder first, which was a good thing, because it was rope and she didn't want to be kicked in the face if she could avoid it. The drafter drooped as they all scrambled up, then adjusted to the weight. Foster climbed up last. He was an elf with black hair that hung into his eyes and intense features.

The drafter was small and cramped inside, with a ring track set into the floor on which the driver could spin to look in every direction. Loops hung from the ceiling. Racks of guns lined support beams. There were headsets all over the ceiling. Hammock seats hung for support on different key locations. The fat bodies of the cannons stuck out of the floor like poison sacks in the mouth of a snake.

Holly turned to look west. From up here, she could see overtop of the surrounding buildings, and she caught sight of the far wall for the first time since her military summons.

"Holy God," she whispered.

"Vice Captain, how are you at piloting?" Foster asked.

Holly shrugged, still staring at the crack. "Poor."

"Shooting?"

"Brilliant."

"Then I'm going to steer, and you're going to aim. Anyone else know how to fire?"

One man raised his hand.

"What's your name?" Foster asked.

"I'm Private Dawson," he said gruffly.

"You're going to sub in if Short needs to switch out. Everyone else, I want someone rubbing each side's cannon booster- don't lose any fluid, I need someone at the radio, someone opening ammunition, someone loading it, someone reading the fire stats. Anyone not have something to do? Good.

"Our mission is to protect the civilians in this area and guard their retreat. The collection vehicles being sent are drones, they won't be able to defend themselves. After everyone is clear, we're going to back a hasty retreat out of here. Let's get moving." He took his seat and fastened himself in, pushed in an intercom ear node to Ro's drafter, then yanked the machine into motion. Amazingly, the legs moved to cushion their jostling, but Holly still stumbled into the wall, along with half a dozen Privates. The movement of the body- up down diagonal- was jarring.

Some of the others who had never flown before were probably less used to the sensation, but Holly could tell immediately that Foster was a good pilot.

Holly pulled down a rig from the ceiling. It unfolding in beautifully engineered segments, fattest at the top, then narrowing. It grabbed her upper torso with four arms, two cross her chest and two over her shoulders, like a jet pack, stabilizing her but otherwise allowing her to move freely. Her helmet automatically synchronized with the system, setting her sights to coordinates.

Controls unfolded from the ceiling, where they had been curled, and she grabbed hold of them. They were massive in her hands, two big handles covered in dials, with obvious red buttons at the end, under her thumbs. They were shaped almost like handguns, and smooth metal joints automatically locked them onto her hands, swallowing her arms to her elbows. She lifted one arm experimentally and the control rose to a chorus of metallic clicks and whirs. One of the massive cannons rose in front of her, on the other side of the plastic window. It was connected to the fuel tanks bellow by a set of cranes and a fat, reinforced tube which supplied plasma.

"Put it into auto," Foster said. "Safety specs are going off. Your right hand is a 7600, your left is a 3800, military standard units. Not the same as recon, remember."

"Yes, sir," Holly said. Two officers dropped below the drafter on harnesses to take care of the cannon bellies. Others were harnessing themselves onto the lower track, praying softly, staring at the horizon.

Why weren't the enemy pods doing anything yet?

"4," Ro shouted over the intercom. "42, 36, 56, fire!"

Holly grit her teeth grimly, dragged the great nose of the cannon up into the midst of pods, took aim for the enemy pod specified and pressed the triggers. The entire machine rocked backwards, but Holly's eyes staid trained on the three blasts of blue light shot from each of the machines. They shot across Haven in a split second- so fast!- and met their targets in an explosion of red-orange flame.

Two of the struck pods remained aloft, hardly disturbed. The last one, however, contained Ro's hidden shot. There was a disturbance within the cloud of smoke and fire, and a huge, quickly expanding structure burst off the side of the pod, spiking out into the sky. It was a chemical reaction Holly had some passing familiarity with, rapidly growing a huge, heavy tumor adhered to the side of the pod. The pod tilted, straining, and then started to drop. It careened at an odd angle towards the ground, gaining speed, and finally smashed into the earth, utterly leveling two houses and burrowing ten feet from a shallow angle before it stopped moving.

Other drafters were moving, to her right. This time, the pods shot the missiles out of mid air, while the back pod's dropped cannons. The shots weren't finder missiles. The first volley didn't hit any of the drafters, but it wouldn't be long until the people running them figured out the nuances of the drafter's jerky movements. Each shot would come closer, closer. Holly's gut curled. Emergency vehicles screamed through the streets. People started running, shouting, into the streets, civilians, a little girl pushing her brother in a baby carriage…

Holly remembered, abruptly, the charred and abandoned baby carriage she'd seen in New York, and her stomach clenched. It was suddenly unreal, impossible, that everything was going so spectacularly to shit, like a nightmare. Her heart was pounding frantically in her chest. So fast it was making her sick.

Down bellow, the crashed pod was opening, and half a dozen humans in blue uniforms climbed out. One of the humans raised a hand, and the road exploded. Holly recognized her, and the woman beside her. The Guards of Speed.

And they were hundreds of others behind them.

The pods were just there to bring these guards down, and maybe destroy a few machines. The real battle would take place on the ground. Cold terror unfurled in Holly's gut.

"Short, fire at will!" Foster shouted. The drafter began to run towards the pods, climbing over buildings like a spider, feat carefully avoiding crushing the people bellow. Holly snarled, took aim at the group of humans with her left hand, and when they reached the top of a library, fired, again and again and again. Each time, the controls jerked her arms. They were padded inside, but they would still leave thick black bruises. She gritted her teeth in pain and anger. The red light from the blast lit up the inside of the drafter in grisly, bloody light. The fire curved a hundred meters from the group and shot off at an angle, smashing a nearby house and setting several of those behind it on fire.

Shots whizzed past the drafter, blindingly bright, like comets. Magnesium, maybe? The clever windows darkened over the bright spots. The drafter stumbled, feat crushing pavement. The scream grew louder, more intense, focused. Everything was on fire.

"Refill on the 3800!" She shouted, feeling more than anything, one side of the draft growing lighter.

"Slow down, Short," Foster warned her, but she spared him only a glance. "You'll break your hands," he added, more urgently.

"Don't care," she growled. "I'm not switching out."

She couldn't switch. She had the best aim of any Vice Captain or Captain in recon. She zoomed her gaze in on the six humans. One of them buckled, shaking, then, from his back, a big metal structure ripped free, dripping with blood. Holly stared in amazement. The machine that unfolded from the man's torso had obviously completely filled the space that was supposed to be filled by his organs. Now, the roughly organic shape folded into two big guns over his shoulders, each curved like the stinger on a scorpion. With single minded determination, he turned to the nearest house and jumped onto the roof. Just like that. Twenty feet in a single bound. His guns spun, and then sprayed the house in black liquid, a mist the covered it instantly like a fog, then he jumped away again, the force of his departure crushing the roof. A guard behind him leapt over the house with another set of guns, shot the thing with fire. There was a mushroom cloud explosion, and a shockwave of heat slammed into the houses around it, leveling trees, cracking open the sidewalk. A drafter running by it towards the pods was tossed into a building and one of the legs bent, so that it had to skitter away unsteadily.

The drafter reached out with one of the remaining legs, as if to strike the guards off the roof of the house where they are standing, but then, out of nowhere, there is a flash of black and white and blue and yellow, and the leg buckled. The drafter swayed on four legs. Holly saw the Guard of Speed, the darker skinned one, glaring up at the pod, rubbing her obviously injured hand but smiling fiercely. Behind her, the blond girl was holding onto her hand, shoulders hunched, looking up at the drafter fearfully. Her waiflike hair swept around them, pale and ethereal.

The magic hadn't totally broken the drafter, though. Apparently, military grade weaponry was military grade for a reason. The leg came down again, unbalanced, and smashed through the already dimming fire of the little house. The house had burnt like paper: brilliantly, and almost to dust in just a few seconds. The machine took a step forward. The girls took a jump backwards. The two matched each other step for step, improvising a jagged battle dance over the houses. Each time the drafter tried to swat at the other guards, or aim their cannons, the girls would block them.

Holly thought suddenly about the way a big fish protected its fry in a lake. The guards with guns didn't have much magic- only enough to keep themselves alive with no insides. Pretty soon, they would be dead, and the big fish- guards like Speed, guards with powers that could crush a drafter easily- wouldn't have to babysit them anymore. They could do anything they wanted.

And then she thought of something else. The blond girl didn't have to touch something to use her magic on it.

"Foster!" She screamed. "Head to those two guards! Head over there!"

She was surprised, honestly, when he followed her suggestion immediately.

"Load complete," one of the privates told her. "But there's been an error with the fluid, 7600 is offline."

"What?" She snarled, turning to stare at him. Sweat was dripping inside her helmet. She hadn't noticed until a drop flung off the tip of her nose and hit him in the face. He flinched.

"It'll be back in a few seconds."

"Soaked cartilages being replaced!" Another private yelled, then slipped under the craft. A burst of smoky air came up into the compartment as the door opened, then was immediately dissipated by the fan system.

"Foster," Holly said. "Get in contact with that drafter. Tell them that the blond girl can stop things without touching them."

Foster nodded. "Building to your left. Shoot it down."

Holly looked through the floor, down at the street bellow as the drafter lurched over buildings and around fires. A long, many jointed rescue vehicle wove up a building nearby, like a centipede. Overhead, the sky was darkening. The city was sending rain.

She kicked the floor twice to get the privates' attention. "7600 status?" She called.

"Offline," came back a muffled shout through the floor.

"Damn it," she whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." Another guard had four big extra arms sticking out of his side. He had caught up to the crowd of screaming civilians and was ripping a woman apart with his bare hands. A guard wielding a twenty foot long iron poll like a baseball bat was battering a drafter, each strike making it spark and sway. The drafter swung back, shooting out two legs, but the guard moved out of the way with machine like grace and speed. In the swarm of immobile pods, a drafter tilted precariously and fell over. Guards dotted its legs. It was like watching a mammoth being brought down by a dozen rabid wolves. Two guards were smashed to bits against the ground, the others didn't so much as slow to watch their comrades fall.

Pods were landing slowly, opening on the ground like eggs cracking open, expelling dozens of blue clad soldiers.

And it just kept going. A guard ripping through the roof of a house with his bare hands. A guard shooting at a collection vehicle as it crawled up the side of a building. The vehicle tipped and twisted onto its side, and the guard laughed, throwing back her head.

Their drafter caught up with Speed and the other machine and charged into close fighting range.

"7600 online!" One of the privates shouted.

"Now it's online," Holly muttered. "Now when I'm too close to use it, of course it's back online."

She aimed with the 3800 and shot at the blonde girl.

The two leapt out of the way again, easily widening their gaze to encompass both drafters, just as Holly had expected them to. They landed neatly on a tall pipe sticking out of the ground, and a second later the pipe heated to red hot and exploded, spraying molten metal.

"Ha," Holly muttered. "Didn't think about the fact that there's still a grid system working under these houses, did you?"

But then she realized that the guards of Speed were still perched on top the pipe. Around them, the air was a shivering, solid disk. The blonde girl had her head tucked into her dark sister's back and her arms wrapped around her abdomen. She looked… honestly frightened. But she had anticipated Holly's intentions in advance, without any way of discovering them outside of intrinsic, predatory instinct. Brilliant.

Holly could match that.

"Foster," she said. "I want you to follow my lead."

She looked over towards him. He met her eyes, and nodded slowly. "You are the only one here with experience fighting AMN. I'll trust you."

Holly nodded shortly and curled her hands around the triggers. "Down!" She shouted. "Go straight towards them."

And Foster did. He didn't even question it. The other drafter was confused, but followed their lead.

The dark girl smashed the pipe to pieces and sent a shower of deadly metal shards at drafter 12, then jumped towards Holly, leaving the blond girl standing on the frozen pipe, watching and ready to defend. She moved fast, impossibly so, dodging outside of the cannon's firing range, avoiding Holly's aim until she was too close to hit. She jumped clean fifteen feat in the air, bounced off one of the drafter's leg, and shot towards the main body, hand outstretched. For a moment, she met Holly's eyes through the glass and the tinted shield of Holly's helmet. Her face didn't change, but Holly thought she saw a flicker of cold recognition behind that sharp smile, and then the guard's fist slammed into the plastic.

There was a sharp, grating sound, and cracks shot off from the point of impact in a moment to encompass a good third of the body with a sound like a gun being fired. The thud of contact shook Holly's entire body in the tiny, enclosed space of the drafter, slammed against her eardrums with a stabbing pain. They were a slight shower of plastic dust, but otherwise the pieces held together, popping occasionally, like an eggshell on a thin membrane. The guard narrowed her eyes, balancing precariously along the seams lining the outside of the drafter.

"Gotcha," Holly whispered, and wrenched her hands upwards.

The cannons smashed into the guard's body, pinning her like a bug.

Holly had a moment of mad, gleeful victory, before she realized that the plastic had been damaged enough to let in sound, among other things. The cannons might not have had enough weight to smash the guard flat, but they had more than enough to break at least half of her ribs and crush her vital organs into smithereens. She made a frail gasping sound, and through the holes in the plastic, liquid started to leak through, trickling down the cracks and onto the floor, a mirror image of what was happening outside.

Hot blood dripped down the sides of Holly's neck, too, under her helmet. Her ears were bleeding. It took her a long moment watching the guard's dark blood spreading across the white floor to realize that the ringing in her ears wasn't a result of the damage.

The blond girl was screaming. Clutching at her head, shaking, and screaming. There was darkness making its way over her top lip, onto her chin, down her neck. Her nose was gushing blood. She shook her head back and forth, tearing at her hair. Her screams were agonized, not like the screams of someone watching a friend die, but like the screams of somebody whose organs were slowly being pulled from their flesh shell by crows.

Then her head flashed up and everything froze. The engine of the machine rumbled for a few more seconds, then died. The cannons wheezed and dropped away slowly, hydraulics deflating. They only moved a few feet back, then locked in place, noses bloody.

"Don't think… you can kill us that easily," the guard on the window said. Holly stared at her in horrified fascination. In the red mess of her stomach, little sheets of metal were starting to emerge. They surrounded her organs, supporting everything, then filled in the empty space that should have had skin, mesenteries, a liver, the rest of her stomach, neatly closing the wound. A second later, the guard shuddered hard and straitened up, panting and keening a little in pain, but smiling.

"Didn't you learn anything last time?" she whispered, lips black with blood. The open cuts in her uniform no longer looked obscene; they just looked sickening, slick with gore.

Her sister jumped up next to her. "You okay?" she asked quietly, biting her lip.

The darker girl kissed her on the cheek sweetly. "Of course," she said. "Miles to go before we rest, right?"

The blond smiled. Wiped the blood off her face as best as she could, and shut her eyes. Their fingers laced together and they leaned into each other, like lovers or the closest of friends. "I'm so happy," she whispered. "I don't want to do this without you."

Holly's eyebrows came together, utterly confused. The other privates were standing motionlessly, watching everything proceed.

"You can kill them, if you want to," the dark skinned girl told the blond.

Holly turned her head and mouth frantically at one of the privates. "Fluid! Get the fluid."

The private, a young man with round, terrified eyes, was too frozen in shock to respond. A different private, standing behind him, edged across the drafter to follow her order, turning the nozzle in the floor that would flood the plasma tube with liquid slowly, eyes fastened on the guards the whole time.

"Shoot the tube," she mouthed. "Do it!"

The private stared at her, trembling. She could tell what he was thinking. _No, we might die._ Foster, helpless in his seat, stared at her imploringly.

Sometimes, Holly realized, you had to do everything yourself. She dropped her eyes to her belt, were her lowly 3000 was resting. Her hands were fastened into the gloves. She couldn't get out of them without deactivating the whole system. Carefully, she pulled her hand against the cuff. It caught on her thumb.

Well, so be it.

With a gargantuan effort, she wrenched her hand backwards against the restraints. She felt the buckles cut into her skin, felt them slice at her arm, then felt the exact moment that she broke her own thumb and it slid out. She howled with pain, but didn't stop, grabbing for her gun.

The guards looked up, but it was too late for them. She aimed and fired through the window. The last blow was all it took to shatter the plastic into a million pieces, but that wasn't her intention. She hadn't been aiming for them. The bullet sank into the tubing underneath the cannon, and burning hot liquid shot out in a turret, as dangerous as flame, super heated and compressed. It shot across the window, only a small amount spraying into the compartment on the far right wall.

The guards shot away, and the drafter came back to life under Holly's feet. The other drafter began to move as well engaged the enemy immediately, crippled but moving with some skill.

The gun dropped from Holly's grip, and she looked down at her hand with trepidation. She hadn't just broken her thumb, she'd pulled it all the way out of the socket and dragged it under the skin, then forced the maligned joints to fire a trigger. Her thumb stuck out from her palm. She grimaced and looked up at the ceiling, raised her hand to her mouth, clenched her thumb firmly between her teeth, and yanked it back into place. A helpless moan tore out of her, but a second later, the blue light of her magic was mending everything back together. She breathed a sigh of relief and sagged.

"Retreat!" Ro shouted over the speakers. "We're evacuating this district. The barriers are going up in 30 seconds."

"No," Holly whispered, staring wildly around at Foster. "We can't lock this up yet, all the civilians aren't out!"

Foster looked up at her, looked at the pods, then looked back.

"Orders are orders," he said, and the drafter jerked backwards, speeding away from the battlefield. Holly saw faintly that, at the edge of the section of grid, a metal wall was rising.

They leapt over buildings, the wind howling in the enclosed space without the window to protect them, privates grabbing for equipment to keep from being tossed out. A helmet slid across the floor and dropped fourteen stories down bellow. At one point, the drafter tipped so far that Holly's feat left the ground, and she dangled over the gap by her upper body for a second.

They cleared the metal gate in time to watch it close with a thundering boom that resonated in Holly's heart and filled her with a deep, sick dread.

"There were people in there," she said.

Foster closed his eyes and sagged in his seat. "We're people too, and we were out matched. We'll re-arm, and we'll be better prepared when this wall falls."

"Will it fall?" One of the privates asked nervously.

Foster looked up at it, watching huge mechanical bolts slide into place. There was a strange peacefulness to his face. There, Holly though, was the difference between a captain and colonel. "Undoubtedly," he said. "All there is now is to wait."

"Wait for what?" Holly asked, frustrated. "We'll fight here, then we'll abandon these districts, then we'll fight again and loose somewhere else. Maybe we'll beat them eventually- we out number them- but how many people will die in the process?"

"This is war, Short. You've seen it. Is that a rhetorical question?" He asked.

The controls whirred, then released her remaining hand and withdrew into the ceiling, momentarily hibernating. She clenched her freed hand a few times, scowling, wondering if it was worth the energy to heal the rapidly blackening bruises.

They were being driven, Holly realized. Driven towards the volcano, and the empty goblin district.

"No," she said. "It's not."

"Then, I suppose it depends."

"Depends on what?"

He folded his hands on his control panel and leaned forward, eyes narrowed with thought. "On how long it takes the top brass to send in the real machinery."

"What kind of machinery? Bigger cannons won't work in close range fighting like this." Holly's nerves prickled. She'd never heard about most of what was kept in the armory.

Foster just shook his head. "Not for fighting, Short. For bringing the roof down."

0o0o0o0

Root got his second call from Bloom around lunchtime. The first battle had lasted about 7 minutes, and everyone spent the next half hour sitting around, watching the evacuations proceed on television.

He'd almost lost his lunch when he learned Holly had been in a drafter fighting in the district that was now shut off, until a few records became available and a list of survivors was posted. He'd almost lost it again when he realized half the soldiers sent in and a quarter of the civilians from that district had been locked in to die.

A deep, unsettled silence settled over HQ.

Now, though, Root was staring down at his caller ID in confusion. After a few seconds, he answered gingerly.

"Bloom?"

There was a burst of static, then he heard Bloom's voice, distorted over the poor connection. "Root!" She gasped. "Help!"

"What's wrong?" He asked. "Do you have Emmet? Where are you?"

"I'm on the volcano," she said.

"What?" He said, aghast, then he remembered that they had never told her not to go there, only to get Emmet out of trouble. "How did you get there?"

"I took a pod," she moaned. "Emmet's with me. We're surrounded. Send help."

He stared down at the floor, unseeing. "I'll see if I can-"

"No! Send Holly. You come, too. You're the only ones who can deal with this. No one else… should be… involved."

"Calm down. Are you being fired at?"

"No, I'm hiding."

"Alright, good. Do you have a gun?"

"No."

"Are you near an access tunnel?"

"No, I… maybe. I don't know where I am. They destroyed the pod. I was running, I got turned around…"

He closed his eyes. "Okay. What are your coordinates?"

She recited them shakily, and he told her to wait before snapping his phone shut. Time to mobilize.

Huh. Saving a maiden for the second time in a handful of hours. He snorted. It seemed they were becoming heroes. But… but it would be nice, to be able to save someone, for once.

Then he started to dial General Ro. He needed his Vice Captain back for this one.


	16. Chapter 16: The Fear

**C** h a p t e r **1** 6

**T** h e **F** e a r

0o0o0o0

Foaly would confess himself… a bit confused. Maybe. Possibly. Don't tell Root.

They'd all made it out onto the volcano, climbed a few hundred meters over the pod shaft and wound up in a clearing. Elizabeth was there with Emmet, but other than that, they were alone.

"No!" She'd screamed when she saw them. She'd dropped Emmet's hand and started running in their direction, waving her arms frantically. "Go back, I-"

And then he didn't remember anything else, really, except suddenly being here.

Foaly looked around the bar he was standing in, utterly perplexed. It was filled with fairies, talking and laughing, drinking at the bar or eating dinner at booths. He was still wearing his military uniform.

"Foaly!" Someone said, punching him in the arm. He turned, expecting to see some burly drunk looking for a fight, but it was just Holly. Or, well, it looked like Holly, but just slightly different. Her hair was longer, and there was brightness in her face that he hadn't seen in a long time. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, from drink or from warmth or just from happiness, he couldn't tell. She was wearing civilian clothes, an actual skirt and a blouse. He could hardly believe it.

"Where have you been?"

He blinked. "Er… I'm not sure, actually."

"Why are you in your old uniform?"

"Uh… because we're in battle?"

Holly's smile wilted a little. "Oh no, not that again," she muttered.

Foaly glanced around, waiting for some explanation to jump out at him. None did.

"What again?" He said.

Holly shook her head sadly. "Foaly, we won that battle five years ago. Let me show you."

She reached up and tugged off his helmet, then took him by the arm and turned him around. Foaly let her maneuver him, numbness radiating from his core.

Then he saw himself in the mirror on the far wall. A long scar snaked through the left side of his head, an obvious relic of tremendous pain. His face was more mature. It was a shock to see soft laugh lines around his eyes, and he reached up a hand to touch them. He looked like he'd grown old, and done it happily.

"What the hell…?" He muttered.

0o0o0o0

Holly was saturated with a deep sense of peace.

She was standing on a hill on the surface, up to her knees in thick, swaying grass. A soft wind blew, making the grass around her shush and lifting up her hair. She reached up a hand to touch it.

"My hair has grown," she said serenely.

"Has it? I hadn't noticed," someone said jokingly to her left. Holly turned, and saw a young man reclined on the grass, smiling up at her, a human boy in his early teens with blond hair and blue eyes.

"Emmet," she said. She couldn't find it in herself to be concerned. The whole Milky Way was laid out above her, spectacular and brilliant.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," he said, rolling his eyes. Her lips twitched. She turned to her other side and saw only grass. A brief flash of unease went though her, but then her calm returned.

_You fear being left behind._

"You've passed," someone behind her said.

Holly turned and found herself in a brightly lit room a kitchen. The kitchen she'd grown up in. The girl that had come with Blue was sitting at the scarred wooden table, wearing a bathrobe with her legs curled up on the chair in front of her. A vase of violets sat in the center of the table, and morning sunlight made the glass sparkle and sent little rainbows up onto the ceiling.

"Oh hell," Holly muttered. "What are you doing here? And where is here, anyways?"

"Relax," the girl said. "I told you, you passed."

"You're not explaining anything, and you know it," Holly said. Abruptly frustrated, she put her hands on her hips. It was still a child she was dealing with. "What is your name?"

The little girl blinked at her. "I'm Sesame. You don't remember?"

"I was a bit preoccupied the last time we met. Now, where are we?"

Sesame glanced around, then reached up and wove one of her curls around a finger. "I don't know. Somewhere in your memories."

"Okay." That was something, at least. "How did we get here?"

"You decided that. It's how my magic works. I can make people dream, but they decide what it is that they dream about." Sesame glanced up at her imploringly.

Holly sighed and pulled out a chair at the table, then slumped into it. "You're going to have to do a better job of explaining than that," she said.

Sesame curled her hair a little tighter and squirmed in her seat. "It's hard," she whined softly. "It's hard to explain."

"Try," Holly said firmly.

"I can make people go to sleep, and set up traps in their minds. They know their own strengths and weaknesses, so they do the work. I can nudge them in the right direction, but ultimately, their dreams come from their own thoughts and memories. Some people trick themselves, others don't."

Holly accepted the explanation, but found herself curious. She'd thought if she would confront her worst fear, it would be a pit crawling with people she'd failed, or maybe the cell where Artemis had been kept at AMN. But no. She feared loneliness. Strange.

"I'm not all that surprised that I passed, then. I've never been all that creative. Why am I still here?"

"Because we're waiting for the others to finish."

"Who else is in here?"

Sesame curled up a little tighter and shrugged. "That pixie with the black hair is awake, now. I didn't touch the little boy. He's cute." She smiled. "I think I had a brother like him once. I bet everyone will be really happy when I bring him back to AMN."

Holly realized with a slight thrill that she was sitting across from a girl who might have killed little boys like Emmet, who was part of the organization that had killed his mother. As cooperative as she was being, it didn't sit well with Holly when she talked about Emmet. "Keep talking," she prodded.

"I don't know how long it's been outside of here. I never know. I'm not as clear out there as I am in here. Your bodies are out there, though. If I had to say, I'd say it's probably only been a few seconds."

"What about my comrades? When will they be done in here?"

She looked up, and her eyes were wide and innocent. "They may not come out. That's the point. You have a strong mind, for an elf. You have strong convictions."

"No, I don't," Holly said numbly. "I have no idea what I want."

Sesame shook her head. "Yes you do. Or you would be dead."

"Aren't you disappointed about that?" Holly asked, suspicion working into her mind. All of this could be part of the trap.

Sesame yawned. "I did my best."

Holly licked her lips. "Okay, so we have some time to kill. How about you tell me about AMN?"

"I don't know if I should."

Holly figured it might work best if she didn't make her host uncomfortable. Let sleeping dogs lie. Right. No pushing. "Are you one of the guards?"

"No," Sesame smiled, looking pleased with herself. "I'm on the council."

"Like Blue."

She scrunched up her face. "Nah. Blue isn't really on the council. To be on the council you have to have been born with magic. Blue had to get surgery to use it. He's only technically on the council because he's good at keeping track of everyone's personalities."

"Do you have another personality?"

Sesame laughed. "Nuh-uh! Only the guards do, silly."

"So… Blue?"

"Nope. I guess he got out of it. He's one of only two people that the Doctor ever worked on without scrambling their brains first. He had to be really careful."

"Torturing them into insanity, you mean," Holly said coldly.

"What?" Sesame glanced up again, the shrugged. "Uh, I guess. Anyways, him, and the Guard of Rot."

"Blue because he volunteered… why the other one?"

Sesame blinked at her. "She volunteered, too. She had someone she really wanted to save. Normally the Doctor doesn't strike deals, but she was really well fitted for something he had planned, the Commander just told him to go for it."

She paused with a curious expression on her face, and peered up at Holly a bit more intensely. "I thought you knew her. It was part of her debriefing before we sent the Guard of Persuasion down under. I guess you knew her by a first name, though. Uh… let me think…" she scrunched up her face in thought, then alit as the answer came to her.

"Minerva! You called her Minerva."

0o0o0o0

Henry Dippet stared down at his parent's dead bodies. Hot blood dripped down the knife he was holding onto his hand, silently trickling along his knuckles and the creases of his palm.

"I can't believe I did it," he whispered. He wanted to say something else, staring at his father's twisted face and wide, surprised eyes- _ha, thought I was a pussy med student, did you? Look at me now! Who's got the knife now, dad?_ But then his father's stomach was slit and there were guts slipping out of him onto the floor. And a few feet away lay his mother's body, equally mangled. Why was she dead, too? That wasn't right. Was it because she had loved his dad? Because she would have turned Henry in?

No, not Henry. He was Doctor Dippet. He had changed his last name a few weeks after leaving for college, Dippet after his great grandmother, a nurse in the city hospital.

A shudder traveled through him and didn't leave.

He didn't remember killing them, but the knife was still in his hand, incontrovertible proof that he had. He wondered briefly if it was possible he was undergoing some sort of shock. Yes, yes, that made sense.

It was something he'd always wanted, he reminded himself shakily. The desire had burned in his stomach since childhood, since he was seven years old. His left foot curled in his shoe, and he felt the absence of his big toe. No one deserved to live after they cut a child's toe off with a kitchen knife as a punishment for running away. The thirteen years of abuse following had been shelved in his consciousness for too long. The skin of his back had been cut and healed so many times, he was surprised her had enough juice left to keep from aging like a human. His dad got what he had coming to him.

Dippet lowered the knife slowly, then let it drop to the floor. Everything was already soaked in blood, anyways. He didn't feel anything except the slight buzzing of nervous energy just under his skin, like ants biting at rotten meat.

He had to bury the bodies. That took priority. The house was pretty far from the city- there were a few acres of land out back. He could bury them there, with the knife and his soiled jacket. He could dig the hole first, but… no. He didn't want the bodies in the house. Someone could come by. Someone might see.

His heart skipped a beat and he cast a glance around the empty kitchen. The windows outside were dark. It was nighttime.

He dropped his gaze back down to his parents. No, to the corpses. He put the knife on the counter and knelt down between the bodies. The smell of blood was a sour reek in the air. He hesitated for only a moment before touching the body of his mother. She was on her side. He rolled her onto her back then got one arm under hers, so he could carry her half draped across his shoulder. His dad was a little harder, due to the fact that there was… so much of him missing. With his shaking, free hand, he pushed his father's organs back into his chest cavity. They were cold and slimy when he touched them, and left his hand covered in chunky gristle and strange brown blood. How long had it been since his parents had- since he'd killed his parents? He couldn't remember.

He buttoned his father's jacket up over the wound with shaking fingers, then pulled his father onto his opposite shoulder and heaved.

Their combined weight made him stagger. It took him a second to realize how different it was from lifting living people. The bodies didn't grab back, and almost instantly began to slip out of his grasp. Dippet pulled his mother a little farther up, adjusting his hold, and grabbed a handful of his father's coat to hold him in place.

His first staggering step towards the door jostled the two bodies against his. His mother's head lolled and bumped into his chest, utterly limp on her neck. A thick strand of drool slipped from her slack lips, hit his collar bone (cold, cold, cold) and slid down under the collar of his shirt, as slow as mud.

He closed his eyes. Weak, his father would say. Little Henry, born into a little girl's body. Blind Henry always stumbling into things, putting out his own knee on the stairs or tripping and knocking his head on a rock. Not blind, Dippet thought savagely. He'd only needed glasses and a bit of corrective eye surgery to get rid of his childhood cataracts.

He made it to the front door, and he was already panting. The door was unlocked. He kicked it open, and the cold wind outside almost knocked it back into his face. It hit his father's body with a thud as Dippet stepped into the night, staggering up the weedy path towards the woods where thick pine trees were shivering as the wind combed them back and forth, a false storm brewing over head. Dippet had to thank the government for a moment, for deciding this night should be a stormy. People weren't likely to visit his parent's house in a storm. It wasn't worth the long drive.

He began the long trudge out into the woods, through the sludge. His own footsteps landed between the smears his parent's bodies made in the mud.

0o0o0o0

_You fear your split loyalties._

Root glanced around, taking in his surroundings. For a moment, he didn't recognize them, then he realized her was in an office building where he'd worked right out of school. Nowhere important, but a suitable improvement over the illusion he'd been fighting: a great, many limbed creature with a peculiar set of beaks on its tentacles, some mad mash up of squid, octopus, and sea star, but massive. Facing a difficult choice, he'd thrown his armored body into its mouth to save two dozen strangers with scared faces, and in the moment those great jaws had closed down on his body with a gritty crunch-

He'd woken up here, and remembered the battle.

So that was good.

"You're the second to escape," a voice said.

Root turned and saw the little girl, Sesame, from the demon town.

"Holly was the first?" He guessed.

"It was the girl with red hair."

"That's her," he said.

Sesame shrugged. "I don't care about your names," she said.

He wondered about that for a moment, then decided not to ask. He was dressed in civilian clothes. He didn't have a gun. "Well, I'm Root. Are we going to fight, or can I leave? Where are we, exactly?"

"Your head," she said. "Or mine. I don't really know."

When no more explanation seemed forthcoming, he raised an eyebrow. "Am I staying indefinitely as your prisoner, or…?"

"I guess you can go in a minute. I was going to wait for everyone to wake up, though."

Root considered. That meant Elizabeth and Emmet were alone. "If I say I still want to go, will you let me?"

She shrugged. "I guess. I don't really care what you chose."

"Will you tell my vice captain so we can leave together?"

She squinted up at him, considering, then shrugged again. "Yeah, okay. If that's what you want."

"One more question: why are you making this so easy for me?"

Sesame twirled a curl around her finger absentmindedly, eyes far away. "You decide how easy it is. I told you that already." She yawned. "Besides, I'm bored here. You two aren't that interesting. The others two, though… them I'll get to watch after you go."

Root tried not to let that frighten him, and failed.

0o0o0o0

"Come on, Foaly, stop being such a buzz kill," Julius Root told him, swaggering over from the bar, and wasn't that a sight. The drink he was holding tipped precariously, and he looked down at himself in shock as it splashed over, wetting his front. "Oops, uh, Holly, would you mind?"

Holly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'll grab you some napkins." She patted Foaly on the arm, giving him a last, mildly concerned frown, and trotted off.

"Holly's still taking care of you?" Foaly said, grinning.

"What?" Root asked absently. "Oh, God, no. She still goes out of her way to make things harder for me. I don't know why she's being nice to me right now, actually. Maybe she's drunk, eh?"

He nudged Foaly's side.

Foaly looked around at the people surrounding him. At the end of the bar, he could see Bloom casually drinking Dippet under the table while arm wrestling the bar tender.

"This… this isn't real, is it?" Foaly said. Because. Come one. He was brilliant.

Still, he'd expected more than the guffaw Root gave in reply. "Don't be narrow-minded, Foaly," he said. "If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?"

"No, I mean, you're a figment on my imagination. I'm in a coma, or unconscious, or dead."

"Three strikes and you're out," Root said. "The correct answer was D, none of the above."

Foaly closed his eyes, thinking. "So… have I been drugged?"

Finally, Root's jovial smile curled off a bit, but more like he was disappointed than angry.

"Come one, Foaly. You're awfully close. You're just not getting this."

Foaly closed his eyes, and did what he did best: he thought. Hard. Feeling into the deepest part of his subconscious mind, then deeper, into the sleeping unconscious. Somewhere, he could feel a slow drag in the center of his body. He struggled, trying to tell what it was, and felt a shock of realization- it was his breath moving in, a million times slower than real time.

"The little girl…" He mumbled. Her image rose blearily to his mind's eyes. He couldn't focus on her features, but he knew somehow just how she must have looked.

"Come on. Have a drink," Root said, coaxing. "You can figure this out."

He held out a bottle of amber beer, and Foaly took it and stared down at it for a long moment.

"No," he said, opening it with a deft flick of the wrist and taking a deep drink. "I understand alright."

He turned and smashed the neck on the wall, then swung back and drove the jagged remains into Root's throat.

Root grinned harshly, teeth pressed so tightly together it looked painful. "Really, Foaly," he gasped, then coughed harshly. "I always kind of thought you secretly liked me." He laughed weekly, which was really more a choking gag. Blood damped the corner of his mouth. "Good luck," he managed, and collapsed into a pile on the ground.

Foaly stared at him numbly. Screams started behind him. He stumbled a step backwards. "What the hell, Foaly!" Screamed Dippet, running over from the bar. He met Foaly's eyes wildly for only a moment before dropping to his knees beside Root.

"Call an ambulance!" He shouted. His hands were beginning to glow blue, but Root was already almost dead, seizing helplessly on the ground in great, shaking convulsions, eyes rolled back in his head. The magic wouldn't help.

"Dippet," Foaly said calmly.

Dippet turned slightly to look up at him, and Foaly reared up and kicked him hard in the jaw. While Dippet lay on the ground, shocked and trying to recover from the blow and working his probably broken jaw, Foaly's hoof came down with a crunch on his face. Dippet only had time to gurgle and lift his hands weekly before he was hit a finally time. His head snapped around on the ground, and he lay still.

"Stay back," Foaly told the horrified crowd of partiers. All of their faces were familiar. "I've got a self explosive. If any of you try to stop me, we all die." The words were leaden in his mouth.

"Holly," he muttered. "Holly is next." He picked a steak knife off a nearby table. It was slick with barbeque sauce.

He cast his eyes around, and found her right where he expected, trying to force as many people silently behind the bar through the back exit as possible.

She caught sight of him and her face was ash white. "Go," he heard her hiss, half turning back to the others. "Quickly." Then she stood up and grabbed a stool. She smashed it against the bar, knocking off the legs, and picked one up in each hand. The one in her left hand spun twice like a sword as she adjusted her grip.

In real life, Holly could take him out in about five seconds. Here, he was sure he would win. He blocked her first strike with his free hand, grabbed the end of the leg, and pulling it free from her hand, used the momentum from her strike to swing her back and push her harshly into the bar. Glasses tinkled off the back side of the counter and shattered. She stared at him with shocked, betrayed eyes, and then darted her glance around the room in a brief aborted gesture. _Looking for me, _Foaly realized. _Unable to believe I'm right in front of her._

She pulled herself upright and charged, and her sidestepped her strike, grabbed her arm, and pulled her down onto his knife.

_You fear you are becoming what you hate._

"Fuck," she hissed. He twisted the blade and forced the tip up. She jerked against his body, scrambling. The bludgeon fell to the ground and she tumbled into his chest. The knife cut through another half inch of skin as she sunk down, and she wheezed, her red hair getting into his mouth, her fingers on his shoulders.

Then he blinked his eyes open, and he was standing back in the clearing. He gasped and stared down at his front. He could feel warm blood on his chest. He could taste the ghost of it in his mouth. His shirt was dry. He touched it gingerly.

"Foaly, you're awake," Root said.

Foaly's head snapped up, and he stared around, taking in Elizabeth with a set face, holding Emmet by the hand, Root adjusting his coat, and Holly, with her gun leveled on Sesame's face.

Sesame stuck out her bottom lip at him. She had very bright eyes, but they were only half open. "You passed," she said. "Congratulations."

Elizabeth was the first to ask, "What about Dippet?"

Sesame smiled and pointed to where a body was lying half obscured in the grass. "Dippet failed."

0o0o0fin!0o0o0

Next Chapter:

"Bitch, please," said Nike. Or, well, the sophisticated equivalent of.


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